Adventures in Babysitting
by Amy-Violet
Summary: Sam is thirty and married with kids. He's...well, he might not say "happy" with his life, but he is content. That is, until he meets his kids' babysitter Blaine. Blaine, who is seventeen years old and quite possibly the most beautiful person Sam has ever seen. (Full GKM prompt inside.)
1. Meet the Substitute Babysitter

**From a prompt on the Glee Kink Meme: **

**Sam is thirty and married with kids. He's...well, he might not say "happy" with his life, but he is content.**

**That is, until he meets his kids' babysitter Blaine.**

**Blaine, who is seventeen years old and quite possibly the most beautiful person Sam has ever seen. He didn't even know he LIKED guys until then, but he can't stop thinking about Blaine, and his beautiful eyes and smile (and his ass...) He also can't help but notice the way Blaine looks at him when he thinks Sam's not looking.**

**Sam has to at least try to push the thoughts to the back of his head, but all effort goes out the window the night that Sam finds himself alone in the house with Blaine there, his kids asleep, and his wife nowhere to be seen (maybe during a snowstorm? Sam's wife decides to stay at her friend's, and Sam isn't comfortable letting Blaine drive in the snow.) Sam and Blaine get closer, and they realize how badly they want each other, and they wind up having sex.**

**And Sam promises himself that will be the only time, but then it happens again. And again, and again.**

**(Optional: At some point in their relationship, Sam discovers Blaine has a daddy kink, which Sam is all too happy to oblige.)**

"What would you rather be, dad, a t-rex or a brachiosaurus?" asked the little girl sprawled out on her parents' bed.

"Honey, could you zip me?" asked the woman at the mirror.

Sam zipped Quinn's dress while answering Matilda's question. "Brachiosaurus, obviously."

"Why? They weren't even meat eaters."

"No, but they were huge." He stood over Matilda, pretending to be menacing. She fake-screamed and he scooped her up. "A brachiosaurus could totally win a fight with a t-rex just by stepping on it."

"Dad!" Matilda rolled her eyes at him. Somehow it was cute when his five-year-old daughter did that to him. "They weren't even alive at the same time!"

"Oh, how silly of me!" He set her back down on the bed. "I guess I better go pick up Tina," he said to Quinn.  
"You wanna ride along, Tillie?"

"Only if I don't have to put on shoes."

"It's twenty degrees outside," Quinn said. "You're not going outside without shoes."

"Then no thanks," Matilda said before she walked casually out of the room.

"Okay, back in about twenty minutes," Sam said, giving Quinn a peck on the cheek.

"Okay." Quinn called him back when he was half-way down the hall. "Sam! Wait!"

He walked back to the bedroom door. "Yeah?"

"I almost forgot. Tina has mono. She recommended a friend of hers named, um...Blaine."

"You want to leave the kids with someone we've never met? I don't know, honey...Maybe I should stay home with them instead."

"You can't stay home, Sam. It's my firm's Christmas party. If I show up without my spouse the partners will think..."

Sam waited, but she didn't finish. "The partners will think what?"

"It's important, honey. Please. Besides I talked to Shirley and she said the boy is very responsible."

A boy? Well, it wasn't that weird. Sam was good with kids when he was a teenager. Maybe this kid had younger siblings too. And he did trust Tina's mother, and the party was important to Quinn.

Tina lived in the wealthier part of town, the part Quinn really wanted to move to as soon as she made partner. This Blaine kid, as it turned out, lived right next door to her. Sam chuckled at the thought that Tina probably was the type of girl who would fall in love with and marry the boy next door.

Oh! But...Tina had mono! Sam didn't want to risk this guy giving mono to his kids, especially Willa, who was just a toddler, after all. So if there had been any kissing, any kissing whatsoever between Tina and this boy-next-door, then no way. He would stay home no matter what Quinn said.

He pulled his car up to the curb in front of the house next to Tina's, and he called her. After a few rings he heard a weak "Mr. Evans?" She sounded horrible.

"Hi, Tina! Sorry to bother you when you're sick."

"'Sokay," she said unconvincingly.

"I just need to ask you a quick question about...about this Blaine person."

"Oh, he's a really nice guy. Very mature."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure he is. I just have to ask, and you know I don't want to pry into your personal life, but you do have the kissing disease..."

Tina laughed. "You're asking if I've kissed Blaine?"

"Well..."

"No. He's totally gay."

"Oh!" Sam wondered if Quinn knew this. He suspected she might not be thrilled about it. "Do, uh...does your dad know?" Tina's father was one of the partners at Quinn's firm, and if he was okay with Tina hanging out with a gay kid, Quinn wouldn't complain.

"Um. I think so? I can't remember him ever hiding it, so..."

Well, that would have to be good enough. "Okay, thanks. Sorry again to have bothered you. Get some rest!"

So he would give the kid a chance. He jogged up the long walkway to the front door and rang the bell. The door opened, and there stood the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He stood there, stunned, taking in the soft curls, the golden eyes, the transcendent smile...and it took him a moment to realize that this gorgeous person he was probably gaping at like an idiot was a teenage boy. A teenage boy who was saying his name, apparently not for the first time: "Mr. Evans?"

"Yes! Yes. Blaine?"

"Yes." Blaine smiled at him and it killed him.

"Well, are you ready?"

"Yes, but..." Blaine already had a coat and gloves on, so Sam worried about the "but."

"But?"

Blaine looked down as he said, "My mom would like to meet you first."

"Oh! Yeah, of course. I understand, I'm a father too." Duh. Obviously.

Blaine gave him that smile again and stepped back from the door to let him in. Sam wiped his feet really thoroughly on the doormat before walking in, even though it wasn't muddy or anything and he didn't think he stepped in anything. Blaine led him into the living room, and he had the very weird feeling of being a teenager again, about to meet his date's parents. What the hell? But then he realized it must be because Blaine's family was rich. He was always a little nervous-well, a little uncomfortable-around rich people.

But if he had learned one thing from Quinn in their eight years of marriage, it was how to act confident, even when he had to fake it. He strode into the room, smiled at the woman sitting there, and extended his hand. "Sam Evans. My wife Quinn works with Ray Chang next door. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs..."

"Anderson," she said, standing and shaking his hand. "But call me Margaret."

"Margaret," Sam repeated with a nod. "Tina usually sits for us, but she's sick tonight. We've heard great things from her about your son, though, and we really appreciate him being available on such short notice."

"Yes, well, Blaine doesn't go out much. Except with Tina."

"Mom!" Blaine was actually blushing, and Sam caught him peering up at him through the thickest eyelashes...

"What? You don't want your employer to think you're a hard partier."

"The event my wife and I are going to might run late," Sam said. "I hope that won't be a problem."

"No, of course not. Blaine's a big boy, old enough to stay up late."

"Oh, God, mother."

Sam looked at his watch. "Well, we really need to get going. My wife doesn't like to make too late of an entrance. It was great meeting you."

Margaret Anderson just smiled at him, so he turned to leave, and Blaine did too. "Try not to make too much noise when you get home, Blaine," she called after them.

"So..." Sam said when they got into the car. God, he couldn't believe he was nervous and tongue-tied around a teenager. A teenage boy. "Are you and Tina in the same grade at school?"

"Yes, sir. But, not the same school. I go to Dalton, in Westerville."

Sam laughed. "You don't have to call me sir."

"Sorry. It's habit. It's required at my school."

"What kind of school is Dalton?"

"It's an all-boys boarding school, sir. I mean, Mr. Evans. I'm just home for the weekend."

"Oh, that's too bad. For Tina, I mean. Since you're friends."

"She has plenty of friends at McKinley."

"Sure, of course. And you must have plenty of boyfriends at Dalton."

"Sir?"

"Friends, I mean! You said it's an all-boys school, so..." Sam fiddled with the heat controls.

"Did Tina tell you that I'm gay?"

"She did, but that's not...It's fine with me. Not that you need my permission, of course, I just mean that it doesn't bother me." Wow, did he sound like an idiot. He decided to shut up for a while so Blaine wouldn't think he was a complete moron.

He found himself checking the passenger's side mirror a lot during the drive back to his house. And noticing that Blaine, in profile, was gorgeous. Gorgeous was not a word he had ever thought before to describe a man. A boy. A minor, for God's sake.

Thirty was too young to be having a mid-life crisis. Wasn't it? What the hell was wrong with him?

Wait, Tina was a senior in high school, right? And some high school seniors were eighteen. Some were older, of course, but he couldn't imagine that Blaine would have been held back. How to find out...

"So are you eighteen?" Oh, clever.

"Not yet, sir. My birthday is in April."

"Really? Mine is in May." Okay, time to shut up again.

He glanced over at...well, in the direction of the passenger's side mirror again, and this time he caught Blaine looking at him. He gave him what was probably a really dopey grin, and Blaine smiled back at him. And Blaine's smile was just...well, he was back at the word gorgeous again. And the boy blushed again, and Sam had to wonder...Well, he was gay, and Sam was told he was good-looking...It was how he'd convinced Quinn to go out with him in college, and even though she said she loved him for more than his looks, he sometimes had his doubts.

Quinn and the girls were in the kitchen when he got home with Blaine. He rested a hand on Blaine's shoulder when he introduced him-he hadn't done it intentionally, and his first instinct when he realized what he'd done was to pull it away quickly. But he didn't. He reasoned that pulling it away would have been odder and more awkward than the original gesture, which no one seemed to think twice about. And that was probably true, but if he was being honest with himself he had to admit that the main reason was that it just felt good to touch Blaine, even just his shoulder, even through at least three layers of clothes.

He stood there, hand still on Blaine, babbling about what the girls should eat for dinner, what they had to eat even if they didn't want to, what each of them wouldn't touch if their lives depended on it. After a few minutes of the most boring monologue ever, Quinn kissed him on the cheek and suggested that he get dressed while she show Blaine around and fill him in on the girls' rules and routines. He agreed and went to the bedroom.

After taking off his t-shirt, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Absurdly, he found himself wondering if Blaine would like how he looked shirtless. It was such an inappropriate thought, but once he asked himself the question he couldn't help but answer it. Probably, he thought. There were a couple gay guys at the gym he went to, and he had caught them checking him out. He had never cared much one way or another about those guys, but he had to admit he really liked the idea of Blaine liking how he looked. If he would.

Oh, God, he had to stop this line of thought. What the hell was wrong with him, he wondered, not for the first time that evening. He dressed quickly, not looking in the mirror anymore. When he rejoined Quinn in the kitchen she had to fix his collar for him. He blushed-he was pretty sure he felt himself blush-to have Blaine see him being touched by his wife.

Blaine was entering Quinn's number into his cell when Willa stood in front of him and started talking to him. But Willa was quiet, as she usually was around people she didn't know well, so Blaine had to get closer in order to hear her. And he could have crouched, Sam would have been fine with that. But no, he bent at the waist so that Sam got a perfect view of his ass sticking out.

And what an ass, Jesus. Round and soft and smooth. Sam realized that he couldn't actually see whether it was smooth or not, which made him realize that he was picturing it in his head. Oh God. "Quinn, honey, we should get going."

"Oh, you're right! Let me go get my coat..." And she left the kitchen.

Sam's coat was on the back of a chair in the kitchen. He put it on, not letting himself stare at the babysitter's ass. "Tillie! Hug and kiss good-bye?" he yelled.

Matilda ran into the kitchen a few seconds later and he scooped her up into a bear hug, kissing the left cheek, right cheek, then left again. When Quinn returned with her coat on, he picked up Willa and kissed all over her face. "Bye-bye, honey. Be good for Blaine."

"No, dada," she said. Tears were starting in her eyes. "Dada no go."

Quinn took her from Sam. "We'll be back when you wake up in the morning, sweetie."

Willa started crying for real and yelling "No go! No go!" Matilda reached up and tried to pat her head soothingly, telling her, "It's okay, Willie. See, I'm not sad." But Willa was howling and her little face was dark red when Quinn handed her to Blaine, telling him, "She'll be fine as soon as we're gone."

"She always gets like this when we leave," Sam said apologetically.

"It's fine," Blaine said. He tried to bounce her in his arms, but she was way too frantic. "We're gonna have fun, aren't we, Willa?" Willa was having none of it, so he tried with her sister. "Aren't we, Matilda?"

"Yeah," Matilda said. "We're gonna have fun, Willie. I'll let you play with my second-...well, my third-best dinosaur."

"Thanks, Tillie." Sam tousled her hair before giving Blaine another apologetic glance. "We'll be back around midnight," he said as they headed out.

But it was actually closer to one when they got home. They found Blaine sitting cross-legged on the couch with a book in his lap, but one cheek was red and had crease marks, so he'd obviously fallen asleep. Not that that was a problem. Matilda was perfectly capable of getting him if she'd woken up and needed anything, and Willa...well, there wasn't a person alive who could sleep through her nighttime crying.

"How was the party?" Blaine asked them as he stood up.

"Excruciating," Sam answered. He normally wouldn't have said so in front of Quinn, but he had been watching every word he said for so long he couldn't do it anymore now that he was finally home.

Luckily Quinn didn't seem offended, she just asked Blaine how the evening had gone.

"Oh, fine," he said. "Willa went to sleep right after dinner. I think all the crying wore her out. When I put Matilda to bed I asked if she wanted me to read her a bedtime story, but she wanted to read one to me instead. I learned a lot about the late Jurassic period."

Sam chuckled. "I don't know if she can really read or if she just has all her books memorized."

"Either way it's impressive," Blaine said.

"She gets it all from her mother," Sam said.

This time Quinn chuckled and kissed him on the cheek. "You're shameless," she said, "and I am going to bed. Thank you so much, Blaine." She shook his hand and walked off toward the bedroom.

"Well..." Sam said when she was gone. "Are you ready?" He took some money out of his wallet and handed it to Blaine as soon as he had his shoes back on. Blaine seemed almost reluctant to take it.

They didn't talk on the drive back to Blaine's house. Sam didn't know what to say, and he thought Blaine was probably tired anyway.

He pulled into the driveway and got out to walk Blaine to the front door. Blaine said, "Oh, you don't have to-"

"Don't be silly," Sam said. "It's dark and I have to make sure you get inside safely." He always walked Tina to her door when he took her home after babysitting. True, he didn't usually take her arm while he did so. But it was icy, he didn't want Blaine to slip and fall.

They reached the porch and a motion sensor light went on. Blaine put his hand on the doorknob but then stopped and turned to look at Sam. "I had a lot of fun. I mean, your kids are great."

Sam smiled. "They really are. But I guess I'm biased."

"Well if you ever need a babysitter again...And I mean if Tina's not available..."

"That sounds great," Sam said, already trying to think of the next time he'd need a sitter.

And then, he had no idea what possessed him, but the next thing he knew he was cupping the back of Blaine's head and softly kissing his lips. Several seconds passed between the moment he realized what he was doing and that he had to stop and the moment he actually pulled away. "Blaine! My God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay, Mr. Evans."

"No! It's not! It's the most inappropriate thing I've ever done. Please don't tell...Oh God, listen to me. Now I'm trying to swear the victim to secrecy. No, tell anyone you want-"

"Mr. Evans-"

"Really, Blaine. You should probably call the police. I'm so-"

Blaine's lips were on his again, and he knew he hadn't done it this time. This time he gave himself over to it, trying not to think about how wrong it was, how even though Blaine kissed him this time he was the adult and he was the one who was responsible. It was shockingly easy to block those thoughts out. Blaine's lips were so warm and so sweet, and the way he stood on his tiptoes to reach Sam's just about killed him.

And Blaine-even though he started the kiss this time, he was so shy and nervous. He opened his mouth and his tongue got closer and closer, until finally Sam had to slide his tongue into Blaine's mouth. But then Blaine tried to practically devour it. And Sam placed a hand on Blaine's waist and felt him trembling. Sam pulled away from the kiss, reluctantly, and put both hands on Blaine's shoulders, trying to steady him and get him to stop shaking. He inspected his face to see if he was all right, and sweet Jesus was the boy beautiful. Even more so than before, now that his cheeks were flushed and his pupils dilated.

Blaine looked down at his shoes, but he didn't attempt to move away from Sam's touch. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans. I've never..."

"Was that your first kiss, Blaine?"

Blaine nodded, still not looking up.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, that your first kiss was with an old married man."

Blaine did look at him now, he looked right into his eyes. "I'm not sorry. It was better than I hoped for."

"Blaine..."

"No, I know. I know it was just a kiss and it didn't mean anything. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Well. But if you wanted to I wouldn't blame you."

Blaine shook his head. "I don't want to. I...I promise not to do it again, if you ever let me sit for you again. I'd really like to."

Sam didn't know what to say at that moment. Hiring Blaine again-ever even seeing Blaine again-was obviously a horrible idea. But he couldn't bring himself to say that. In the end he patted him on the shoulder and said, "You're a good kid." He stepped down off the porch. He turned to watch Blaine unlock the door and get inside safely before he went back to his car, to drive home to his wife and kids.


	2. An Unwelcome Invitation

Sam had no intention of seeing Blaine ever again. Not after he had lost his mind and...Well, he was lucky he wasn't in jail.

Not that he thought he would go to jail for one ill-considered kiss. But the truth was, there was a lot he wanted to do to Blaine beyond just kissing him. Stuff that he was lucky he had managed to stop himself before trying, because Blaine just might have let him. Blaine seemed to want him too.

But now here it was, not even a week later, and they needed a sitter again. Quinn's sister suddenly needed them at her Christmas party—she hadn't bothered to mention it to them more than two days in advance, but she desperately needed them to be there for some reason. And Tina was still sick. And Matilda wanted Blaine because he was so much fun.

Quinn thought Matilda had a little crush on Blaine, in fact. She talked about him a lot, and Quinn thought it was cute. How cute would she think it was if she found out her husband had a crush on him too?

"Honey, you better go pick up Blaine now," Quinn called to him from the bedroom.

Matilda looked up from her Legos. "Can I come too?"

"Actually," Sam called back, "I was wondering if you'd mind going to get him?"

Quinn walked out of the bedroom in her robe and looked at him as if she thought he was insane. Which he probably was. "I'm not dressed, and I haven't even started on my hair yet."

"Your hair looks fine," he said. He really thought so, too; she looked good no matter how she wore her hair. He did know she wouldn't consider going to the party with it pulled back in a casual ponytail, though. "And I was thinking I could use a shower." He sniffed under his arm and made a face.

"You showered at the gym, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then stop being ridiculous."

"Can I come too?" Matilda repeated.

"Of course you can come too!" Sam said. He picked her up and put her on his shoulders. This would be fine. Nothing was going to happen if he had his daughter with him. In fact..."Let's see if Willa wants to ride along too."

"Sam." Quinn frowned at him. "It'll take you half an hour just to get the girls bundled up. Willa doesn't even have pants on." It was true, she'd taken off three pairs of socks and two pairs of pants before they gave up and let her walk around the house in a diaper and shirt.

"Yeah, okay. Just Tillie then. You can get ready quick, right pumpkin?"

"I get to go to Blaine's house!" she yelled before she raced off to put her coat on. She must really like Blaine, Sam realized, because she didn't even argue about putting boots on.

As soon as Sam parked in Blaine's driveway, Matilda unfastened herself from her booster seat and ran out of the car and up to the porch. "Tillie," Sam called before she could press the doorbell, "wait for me, honey."

She waited impatiently and pressed it the second he stepped onto the porch. Blaine opened the door almost immediately, and he gave Sam the most beautiful smile. It was almost awkward—it might have become awkward if he hadn't noticed Matilda standing there almost right away. "Hi, Matilda! Did you pick out a good dinosaur book to read me tonight?"

"What kind of dinosaur do you want to learn about?"

"Mmm...how about pterodactyls?"

"Blaine!"

"What?"

"Pterodactyls weren't dinosaurs!"

"They weren't?" Blaine asked, looking at Sam.

"No," Sam said, though he used to think they were too. "Silly!"

Matilda patted his hand. "But I can read you my book about pterosaurs if you like them more than dinosaurs," she told him placatingly.

"That would be awesome," Blaine said. He yelled into the house, "I'm leaving with Mr. and Miss Evans now!" and walked out after his mother had yelled good-bye.

Getting back into the car, Matilda let Blaine buckle her in, even though with Sam and Quinn she'd been insisting on doing it herself for years. Before she let Blaine shut her door for her she said, "Sit in the backseat with me!"

"Blaine will be more comfortable in the front, pumpkin," Sam told her.

But Matilda asked him pretty please, and Blaine said he didn't mind sitting in back with her. Sam wanted to insist that Blaine sit in front with him, but then he remembered that this was exactly what he wanted...exactly what he needed: for Matilda to prevent him from getting too close to Blaine.

He listened to Matilda chattering to Blaine as he drove, and he glanced back at them in the rear view mirror now and then; more often than not he caught Blaine looking at him in the mirror too.

Quinn was right—Matilda definitely had a crush on him. And she wasn't shy about it: she even told him about her plan to marry him as soon as she was old enough. That was really too much. Sam had to tell her to knock it off because she was probably making Blaine uncomfortable.

But before he could say anything, Blaine was telling her, "Did you know that when two people get married, each person's parents become the other person's parents-in-law? So, for example, your daddy would be my daddy." Sam caught his eye in the mirror and Blaine blushed furiously before adding, "In law. Father-in-law. But you're way too young to get married."

Matilda kept talking, but Sam didn't hear a word she said. All he kept hearing was, "Your daddy would be my daddy." Sweet fucking Jesus, he couldn't believe Blaine had said that. If he hadn't blushed so hard after saying it, Sam would have sworn he'd misheard, or at least misinterpreted.

Back at his own house, Sam held the front door open for Matilda, who charged right inside, and for Blaine, who was a little slower getting there. "Mr. Evans, I'm so sorry," he said softly, standing in the doorway. "I promised myself I'd be good..."

"You promised you'd be a good boy for your daddy?" He caught Blaine's eye for just a second, and the lust he saw there was unmistakeable. His must be equally obvious to Blaine.

Jesus, why did he have to say that? There was no way to apologize, no way to take it back—anything he could say could only make things worse. So he did the only thing a reasonable person could do in that situation: he walked past Blaine and into the house and called out to his wife to ask if she was ready to go.

XOXOXO

The party was unbearable.

Quinn's sister didn't like him—none of her family did. The only reason she "needed" them to come, as far as Sam could gather, was because one of the couples she'd originally invited had canceled and without them her careful balance of "types" of guests was thrown off. Or something—Sam didn't much want to know what "type" Rachel considered him.

Sam was in no mood to make nice with the other guests. He was in the mood to do exactly two things: drink and brood. He ignored the looks his wife gave him as he sat by the makeshift bar and did just that.

"Hey, Sammy, everything okay?" his brother-in-law asked him, pulling up a stool next to him. He'd been sent over by one of the Fabray sisters, that much was clear. But he wasn't such a bad guy, and maybe he was just the person Sam needed to talk to.

"Lemme ask you something, man," Sam said to him conspiratorially. "What made you..."

Finn waited. "What made me what, buddy?"

But Sam couldn't ask. He wasn't drunk enough not to know better than to bring up the time Finn almost threw away everything he had with Rachel and their son for a fling with an old high school girlfriend. Rachel had taken him back, but that was three years ago and things still felt tenuous between them.

"Sam?"

"What made you...let Rachel talk you into having this party at your house, man? Wouldn't it have been easier to have it at a bar or a restaurant or something?"

Finn laughed. "Well, you know Rachel. She wants everything to be just right."

"Yeah." Sam stood up. "She probably wants a brother-in-law who socializes instead of sitting around getting drunk."

"Now that you mention it..."

"Say no more." Sam set his drink down and excused himself.

He found Quinn and held out his hand to her. "May I have this dance?"

She looked up at him icily. "No one's dancing."

"Then we'll be the first." He gave her his puppy-dog eyes until she sighed and relented. He led her in a slow-dance around the living room. "Sorry I've been acting weird," he said. "I'm over it now."

She studied his face. "How drunk are you?"

"Not very. Just enough that you'd better drive. Drive us home. And drive Blaine home." As long as he didn't have to drive Blaine home he'd be fine.

Quinn looked around when the next song started. "You managed to get people dancing."

"It's you they're all following. You know all the women want to be you and all the men want to..." Sam lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "All the men want to make love to you."

"Sam, stop..." she said, barely suppressing a giggle.

"It's true. Every man in this room wishes they were me, wishes they got to go home tonight with the sexiest, most beautiful woman here."

"Just here?" she asked teasingly.

"Anywhere. The sexiest, most beautiful woman anywhere."

It was true: Quinn was gorgeous. He was the luckiest guy alive, and he'd have to be insane to even think about anyone else.

So that was the problem, obviously. He was certifiably insane. Because as he moved around the room with his gorgeous wife in his arms, all he could think about was how Blaine's body would feel pressed against his.

XOXOXO

Blaine was asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch, when they got home. Quinn whispered, "He actually looks cute like that."

Sam couldn't agree more. He just wanted to scoop him up in his arms, carry him into the bedroom, slowly remove his clothes...Fuck. He forced a chuckle and said, "Should I be jealous?"

Quinn slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm really tired, honey, and I don't think you're drunk at all anymore. Are you sure you can't..."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want to risk it. Just think if something happened and we had to explain to his parents..."

"You're right," Quinn said with a sigh. "I'm just going to change my shoes first. Wake him up and pay him while I'm in the bedroom, all right?"

"Sure."

As soon as Quinn disappeared down the hall he sat next to Blaine and gently touched his shoulder. Then his cheek, so warm and soft under his fingertips. He put his fingers in his hair.

Blaine mumbled "Daddy" in his sleep, right before he sat up with a start. "Mr. Evans!"

"How were the girls?" Sam asked casually. Blaine leaned into his hand, prompting Sam to pull it away, mumbling, "Sorry."

"The girls were great. Willa seems to be warming up to me."

"I'm sure she loves you as much as...Matilda does." Sam pulled some money out of his wallet and handed it to Blaine. "My wife is going to drive you home tonight."

"Oh!" The disappointment and confusion was apparent on Blaine's face.

"It's better this way..."

"How were the girls?" Quinn asked from across the room. Sam and Blaine both scrambled off the couch, although they hadn't actually been doing anything wrong.

"They were great," Blaine said, reaching for his shoes. "I was just telling Mr. Evans that I think Willa is starting to warm up to me."

"Just don't expect her to fall as hard for you as Matilda has," Quinn said.

"Well. Blaine. Thanks for everything. Good night." Sam retreated to the bedroom. He stood by the door until he heard them leave, and then he let out a breath and began to undress.

He was rather pleased with himself, actually. He hadn't tried to kiss the babysitter again, despite wanting to more than anything. He had barely touched him at all, in fact, and not even that inappropriately. And given the amount of provocation Blaine had given him—"Your daddy would be my daddy," Jesus!—he'd really shown amazing self-restraint.

And then Blaine had called him daddy again when he woke him up! That was a thing for Blaine, apparently. He wanted a big, strong daddy to take care of him. And make him feel good. And that was how he saw Sam, oh Jesus fuck.

Sam had been his first kiss. He wanted Sam to be his first lover, he knew it. And Sam so wanted to be Blaine's first lover. Possess Blaine and make him his, take care of him and make him happy.

Christ, he really was insane. He had Quinn, he reminded himself. He made Quinn happy, and she did the same for him.

She entered the bedroom silently, apparently thinking Sam was asleep, and started unbuttoning her blouse. She gasped when she felt him behind her, reaching around to get the buttons for her. He worked her breasts out of the bra cups and played with her nipples while kissing her neck. "I've been waiting for you," he whispered, pressing his erection against her.

"Mmm...so you have," she said, rubbing back against him.

He removed her blouse and her bra and massaged her breasts while kissing down her back. He was kind of afraid to let go of her breasts, in fact: they were a pretty obvious reminder that he was making love to his WIFE, who of course he was crazy about because she was hot as hell and he was not insane, and he certainly wasn't trying to use her as some sort of sick substitute for the seventeen-year-old boy who was the one he really wanted to fuck.

Quinn moved one of his hands under her skirt and inside her panties. She was so wet for him. She moaned as she rubbed her clitoris against his fingers. "Sam, I'm ready."

"You're ready? Does that mean you want me?"

"What do you think it means, silly?"

Sam hiked her skirt up to her waist, pulled her panties down, and nudged her legs apart. He stepped out of his boxers and rubbed his dick between her legs for just a moment before he entered her quickly and forcefully.

"Oh!" Quinn was obviously surprised. It was the first time he'd taken her from behind in...he couldn't even remember how long. He half expected her to tell him to stop, but instead she braced herself with her hands against the wall and moved with him.

He wasn't thinking about Blaine at all while he fucked into her, one hand gripping her breast and the other madly rubbing her clit. He was only thinking of making his wife come before he did.

When she did come, when she had to muffle her cries so as not to wake the children, when he felt her slick walls clamping down on his cock, that's when he thought of Blaine, of how it would feel to have his cock in Blaine's virgin asshole, how Blaine would feel when he came, how he'd probably call him daddy when he did.

He bit his lip when his orgasm hit and he emptied his load into his beautiful wife. It wasn't that he was afraid he'd be loud enough to wake the girls, it was that he was scared to death he'd say the wrong name.


	3. Winter Storm

"Honey, I'm sorry, I'm not going to be able to make it to the movie tonight."

"Sam! We've been planning it for weeks. Besides, Finn won't want to go if you don't."

"Maybe you and Rachel would enjoy it more by yourselves anyway." He wasn't sure how he and Finn had gotten talked into going to Les Misérables with their wives in the first place—not that that was why he was bailing.

"The four of us always do something on New Year's Eve Eve."

"I know, honey, and I'm sorry. But I promised the Smythes we'd have their kitchen done before the end of the year, and that's tomorrow and it's not done, so..."

Quinn couldn't really argue with that. Sam's business relied on word of mouth, and he couldn't afford to get a reputation for being unreliable. Sam made more money with his remodeling business than Quinn did at the law firm, so she took his work seriously. She was the one, after all, who cared the most about things like having nice cars and sending Matilda to that expensive preschool.

"Or maybe we should just reschedule the whole thing," Sam suggested. "We're supposed to get a lot of snow tonight. Maybe you shouldn't be out driving in it anyway."

"No, I heard it's not supposed to be that bad after all," Quinn said. "Besides, Rachel would flip if I tried to reschedule New Year's Eve Eve."

"Good point. Well, be careful anyway. And have fun. Hey, can I talk to Tillie?"

Quinn called her to the phone. "Here she is. Love you."

"Love you too, honey."

"Dad?" Matilda asked into the phone.

"Hi Tillie! I have to work super late and I might not see you before you go to bed so I wanted to tell you good-night in advance."

"Wait, I thought Blaine was coming over."

"Yep, he still is." Tina was still sick. It seemed like she'd had mono forever. "In fact you might get to ride with mom to pick him up." Sam was glad that at least he didn't have to pick Blaine up since he'd still be working. Well, glad and secretly disappointed.

"Thank goodness!" Matilda said dramatically. "I was scared to death. Okay, bye."

"Tillie, wait!" Sam said quickly before she hung up. "Don't I get to tell you good night and I love you?"

"Oh. Okay."

"Good night and I love you!"

"Good night and I love you too!"

"Let me talk to your sister."

There was kind of a long wait—Sam might have thought he'd been hung up on, but he could hear Matilda whispering to Willa. Finally he heard Willa's voice say, "Dada!"

"That's right, pumpkin, it's dada! I might not be home until you're asleep so I want to tell you I love you!"

"Love you!"

"Love you!"

"Dada!"

"That's right, it's dada. Love you, pumpkin. Bye bye!"

"Bye bye!"

"Bye bye!"

"Bye bye!"

"Bye bye!"

"Bye, honey." This time it was Quinn, and she actually hung up. Sam walked back into the Smythes' kitchen and got back to work.

XOXOXO

The snow was really bad by the time Sam left the Smythes' a few minutes after ten. It was still falling heavily and now it was blowing too.

He called Quinn to make sure she was okay. She told him that she and Rachel (she didn't mention Finn) had decided not to go out to the theater after all and were drinking wine at Rachel's instead. They weren't on the first bottle, from how it sounded. "Okay, well I'll come over to pick you up."

"It's thirty miles out of your way. Sixty if you count...you know..."

"The round trip?"

Quinn laughed. "That's a funny expression, isn't it? It's not like it's really round."

"It's hilarious," Sam agreed.

"Anyway I'll just sleep over and come home when the roads are cleared tomorrow."

"But...what am I supposed to do with Blaine?" Oh God, he could think of too many ways to answer that, all of them very, very wrong. "I don't want to have to wake the girls up to drive him home."

"Let him sleep over in the guest room. I'm sure his mother would be happier with that, knowing he's safe, than having you drive him home in this weather. I know I wouldn't want the girls out in it either!"

Sam sighed. There was no rational objection he could make. He couldn't tell his wife, "I'm afraid I won't be able to keep myself from fucking the babysitter if I'm alone with him." Besides, he could totally control himself. He'd have to, that's all there was to it. "Okay," he said. "I'll call him so he can let his mom know what's going on."

XOXOXO

It was after eleven when Sam finally got home, even though it was normally only a fifteen to twenty minute drive. He was sore and exhausted, not just from the drive but also from the sixteen-hour work day that had preceded it.

And Matilda was still awake.

She ran out of her bedroom in her dinosaur PJs and jumped on him. Blaine followed her, looking as haggard as Sam felt. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Evans. She heard me on the phone with you and she insisted on waiting up for you. I tried everything to get her to go to sleep."

"It's okay, Blaine." He patted him on the shoulder. Even though they were both exhausted, that tiny, insignificant touch sent an energy jolting through him that...well, he couldn't even describe it. But the look on Blaine's face told him that he had felt something too.

Sam crossed his arms and looked down at his daughter sternly. "Matilda Jean, do you have any idea how late it is?"

"I wanted to tell you good night."

"You already told me good night, and I told you good night."

"I forgot!" She tried her super cute smile on him, but when she saw it wasn't working she said, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you for saying that. I think you need to say it to Blaine, too, for not listening to him."

"I'm sorry, Blaine. Please don't be mad at me."

"It's okay," Blaine said. "I'm not mad."

Sam took off his work boots and hung up his coat, then picked her up. "All right. Let's get you in your bed, young lady. You wanna tell Blaine good night?" She mumbled something into Sam's shoulder that was probably meant to be a good-night. She was asleep before Sam got her under her blankets and kissed her forehead.

When he turned around, Blaine was watching from the doorway. "How did you do that?"

Sam joined him in the hallway and closed the door. "What, get her to fall asleep? She was exhausted."

"But she was exhausted ten minutes ago, and I couldn't get her to. I'm so, so sorry, sir. You've had such a long day already, and you should be able to come home and relax, and—"

"Blaine." Sam touched his shoulder again, and this time his fingers grazed against Blaine's neck. "It's okay. Really. I'm not mad."

Blaine sighed and leaned back against the wall. "You're such a good daddy." He blushed and looked down at the floor.

Sam placed a finger under his chin and tilted his face up. "You're such a good boy," he whispered.

"Mr. Evans..." Blaine's face turned red, and he looked away from Sam but he continued, "there's something I really want to say to you...if you don't mind. I've sort of practiced. Can I?"

"Of course, sweetheart." Sam brushed his finger's through the boy's hair. "Do you want to sit down, or..."

"No! I just really need to say it before I chicken out. You, um. You probably already know that I like you. Like, really like you. And...I think you like me too, in the same way, I mean, at least a little, because...I mean, you kissed me..."

"I'm so sorry."

"No! It was the best thing that ever happened to me, sir. I know that I'm just a kid and you don't want to...I mean, you're a good man, and you don't want to take advantage of me, and...And I know you would never want to coerce me or pressure me into anything. And so I just want you to know that..." Blaine looked around, everywhere except at Sam. "God, this is really hard."

"Blaine..."

"No, please, let me finish. I like you so much, and I only say that because I'm trying really hard not to say I'm in love with you because I know if I say that you'll think I'm just a stupid kid who doesn't even know what love is and maybe you're right, but...I begged Tina to turn you down if you asked her to babysit again. I didn't tell her why, I told her I really needed the money...and I'm rambling now and I'm saying too much and I'm still not managing to say what I need to, which is that...I know you probably don't want to try anything with me...like, sexually, I mean...because...because you think I'm too young and I'm not able to give any kind of meaningful consent...but I looked it up, and the age of consent in Ohio is sixteen, and I'm seventeen...and...and, besides, I want you to, really bad. I want you...so bad...to..."

"Blaine? Sweetheart?"

"Yes, Mr. Evans?" Blaine looked up at him finally.

"You're so beautiful, Blaine, and so sexy." Sam's voice was low and gravelly. "I want to make love to you so badly. Would you like that, sweetheart? Would you like me to make love to you?"

"God, daddy, please." Blaine clapped his hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans. I know it's really weird for me to call you that, I don't even know why I want to—"

"It's not that weird." It wasn't like it was what his actual kids called him at least. Matilda called him dad and Willa called him dada. "I actually...really like it."

"Really?" Sam nodded and Blaine went on, "Will you...will you make love to me, daddy? Please?"

And all Sam's promises to himself to control his feelings for Blaine were forgotten.

He lifted him up and, balancing him on his hip, carried him to the guest room. He nuzzled into his neck and kissed under his jaw, and Blaine moaned loudly. "Shh! Please, sweetheart, you have to be quiet." Matilda was a heavy sleeper, but Willa wasn't.

"Sorry, daddy."

Sam laid him gently on the bed and closed the door. "It's okay, baby. Daddy's gonna take good care of you. All right?"

Blaine whimpered in response.

Sam traced his fingers down Blaine's cheeks. "You have to tell me, sweetheart. Tell me if you want daddy to take care of you."

"Yes," Blaine whispered.

"Good." Sam slid his hands under Blaine's shirt and sweater. The boy was trembling. "Just relax, sweetheart." He covered his face in tender kisses. "I promise I'll take good care of you." He gently nudged Blaine's lips open with his own and carefully entered his mouth with his tongue. Blaine's mouth was so sweet, so soft and yielding. He felt Blaine's tongue warm against his, gradually becoming more confident in returning his affection. Soon Blaine was nipping at his lips, pulling him in for more, refusing to let go.

Sam didn't let go either as he worked Blaine's shirt and sweater up. Blaine's chest was so...Well, this daddy-little boy game they were playing was a surprisingly big turn-on, albeit one Sam really didn't want to think about too much. But feeling Blaine's chest—it was more muscular than it looked with a shirt on, and it had hair, a lot more than Sam himself had (though of course he waxed), and—and it was not the chest of a little boy, it was the chest of a man. And Sam, though he had never been attracted to a man before, somehow found that a much bigger turn on than their little game. Or maybe it went hand-in-hand with the game, he didn't know and, again, he didn't want to think about it too much. He just wanted Blaine shirtless, and to have that he did have to separate their mouths finally.

"God, Blaine." His chest looked as hot as it felt; Sam couldn't stop looking and touching. "You're gorgeous. You're so gorgeous, I bet you have no idea..."

"Daddy..."

"Shh. Quiet, baby. Just let me..." He licked Blaine's neck. He wanted so badly to suck, but he couldn't leave any visible marks. He trailed his tongue down Blaine's collar bone, down to one of his nipples. He flicked it with his tongue and Blaine squirmed under him. He bit down—just a little, not enough to hurt—and Blaine arched up and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Daddy, please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"Please take your shirt off too?"

Sam sat up and pulled his shirt off. Blaine sat up too and gaped at him, open-mouthed. "Blaine?"

"You're so hot, Mr. Evans!" Blaine blurted out. He slowly moved his hand toward Sam's chest; before he reached it he asked, "Can I?"

"You want to touch me?"

Blaine bit his lip and nodded. "So much, daddy. Can I? Please?"

Sam nodded. Blaine's fingers brushed across his chest reverently. It sent shivers through him. Blaine watched his own fingers moving across Sam's chest with something like awe.

Blaine spent several minutes touching every part of his chest with just his fingertips. It felt amazing, but also frustrating because it wasn't progressing to anything else. "Do you wanna sit in my lap, sweetheart?" Blaine looked up at him, surprised, and nodded seriously. Sam lifted him into his lap, so their chests were together and Blaine was straddling him. He didn't yet pull Blaine forward far enough for their dicks to touch.

"Can I kiss your shoulder, daddy?"

"Of course, baby. But don't suck or bite." Marks on him would be even worse than marks on Blaine. Blaine could make up a boyfriend if his parents noticed. Sam would just be screwed if his wife noticed. No, not screwed. Dead.

Blaine kissed his shoulder, his neck, his chest. He was being very careful not to suck or bite, just like Sam told him. "So good," Sam muttered. "Such a good little boy." Blaine whined and scooted his body a little closer while he continued to kiss.

Sam worked a hand into Blaine's curls and held the back of his head. "I've wanted to touch you since the first second I saw you, Blaine. Did you know that?"

"Me too. I mean no..."

"I've wanted to touch your ass. Did you know you have the most beautiful ass I've ever seen?"

"No. I mean, please."

"Please? You want me to please touch your beautiful ass?"

"Yes, daddy. Please."

"Do you always let men touch your ass just because they say it's beautiful?"

Blaine pulled back and looked at him, shocked. "Of course not! I mean, no one's ever said that, but I wouldn't...I never..."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Sam kissed him and stroked his cheek. "I shouldn't have teased you like that. I know what a good boy you are."

"I would never let anyone touch me there but you, daddy," Blaine told him earnestly. "You're the only man I want to do dirty things to me."

"You want me to do dirty things to you? Like touch your ass?"

"Yes! Yes, please."

Sam grabbed his ass hard and pulled him forward on his lap, enough so their dicks did press against each other. Blaine gasped and bit down on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, daddy! I didn't mean to bite!"

"It's okay, sweetheart, I know you couldn't help it." Sam hoped Blaine didn't want him to spank him or anything—that wasn't something he was up for. "What else would you like me to do to you? Touch your cock?"

Blaine whimpered. "Just hearing you say that makes me all..."

"So that's a yes? That's a yes, please?"

"It's a pretty, pretty please." Blaine squirmed in his lap. "It's an 'I think I'm going to die if you don't.' For real, daddy, please. I need you to touch it so bad."

He did need it bad, Sam could tell from the desperate look on his face, but he couldn't help teasing just a little bit more. "Need me to touch what, sweetheart?"

"My...please, daddy! Daddy, please touch my..." He buried his flushed face in Sam's chest and forced himself to say, "My cock, daddy. Please!"

"That's my good boy! I knew you could say it!" Sam laid him on his back and slowly undid his fly. He had exactly as much experience touching someone else's cock as Blaine had—maybe even less, and almost definitely less if imagining doing so counted—and he was almost as terrified. And yet Blaine needed him to be the confident one, and so he made himself act confident. He pulled Blaine's pants and underwear and socks off and hurled them across the room. "My God, Blaine, just look at you. Look at what a pretty cock you have. Look how hard. Is that for me, baby?"

"Yes, daddy, please."

He touched it. He touched Blaine's cock and felt it throb and jump under his fingers. Blaine arched and moaned and threw his head back. Sam wrapped his fingers around it—not tightly—and felt it pulse so violently he was sure Blaine was going to come any second. "Fuck. God, daddy, fuck..."

"Language, baby!"

"I'm sorry, daddy!" Blaine whined. "It's just so good!"

Sam let go and Blaine almost cried. But it was just long enough to lick his palm, and soon he had Blaine's erection in his hand again. "I want you to come, sweetheart." He started to jerk, not too fast, but strong and steady. "Can you come for me, sweetheart? Can you come for your daddy?"

Of course he could. Blaine came almost instantly, his body bowing so that for a few seconds only his heels and the back of his head were touching the mattress. And he was so loud—he was sure to wake Willa up, but it was so unbelievably hot the way he kept yelling, "Please, please, please, daddy, yes, please, daddy, daddy..." that Sam couldn't even think of shushing him. And there was so much come. Sam actually got very little of it on his hand. Most of it shot much farther: onto Blaine's chest, onto the comforter...Sam almost thought he'd have to check the ceiling for stains.

Sam heard Willa start to fuss in her crib. He silently prayed that this would be the one time in a hundred that she would manage to quiet herself quickly and go back to sleep.

Blaine collapsed on the bed, breathing hard. "That was so amazing, sweetheart," Sam told him. "You came so hard, it was so beautiful." He stroked his cheek and pushed the curls off his now-sweaty forehead. "How do you feel, baby?"

"So good, daddy," he panted. "So good. But..."

Blaine was frowning slightly, and that made Sam frown too. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I thought you were going to...And I didn't even get to touch you."

Willa screeched. Sam wasn't going to be able to ignore her. He quickly cleaned Blaine up with a spare pillow case and tucked him into the bed. "Wait for me here, sweetheart," he told him, kissing his forehead.

Sam walked into Willa's room. He remembered the little bit of Blaine's come on his hand and, not wanting to get it on his little girl, licked it off. He tried not to think of it as an erotic act at all, and really it wasn't, it was just quicker than going to the bathroom to wash it off.

Willa was standing up in her crib, shaking the railing. Her face was damp with sweat and tears. She held out her arms to be picked up as soon as Sam turned on the little lamp, but a couple seconds later she pulled them back and demanded, "Mama! Dada go way! Want mama!"

Sam picked her up and carried her to the rocking chair. "Mama's not home, pumpkin. How about you tell dada what's wrong?"

"Want mama!" Her sobbing was getting quieter, at least.

"I know you do, Willa. But mama's at Aunt Rachel's." He rocked her and stroked her hair.

"Why?" She rested her head on Sam's shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth.

"Because Aunt Rachel is mama's sister, and they like to hang out together like you and Tillie like to hang out together. You wanna hear a song, pumpkin?"

"Issy Bissy," she mumbled around her thumb.

Sam rocked her and sang "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" several times through. He kept rocking and singing long after Willa was asleep again.

His hard-on had gone away, thank goodness—screaming toddlers were really good at getting rid of those pesky things—and now he was left to contemplate what the fuck he had just done with Blaine and what he was going to do now to make it...well there was no way to make it right, probably, but maybe there was a way to make it less wrong? To prevent it from becoming more wrong, at least?

Okay, what had he actually done? Some kissing and a hand job. Sam and Quinn had done that back in college when they were still virgins. Quinn was the one, in fact, who insisted that hand jobs didn't count as sex. So. It wasn't that bad, really. He just had to not make it worse, which he could definitely do. Or...not do. He wouldn't do anything to make things worse.

He carried Willa back to her crib. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Thanks for crying, pumpkin. Thanks for stopping me from doing something really, really bad." He settled her in, turned off the lamp, and walked quietly back to the guest room. Hopefully Blaine would be asleep.

Blaine was not asleep.

Blaine was uncovered, lying face down on the bed. As soon as he heard Sam come up he pulled his knees up under him and pushed his ass up in the air. Good lord, it was gorgeous. "Fuck, Blaine, what are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry I woke the baby up."

"It's okay, sweet..." Damn it, he couldn't call him that anymore. "It's okay, Blaine."

"You told me to be quiet and I wasn't."

"It's all right."

"But I was bad. I thought...I thought you might want to spank me."

Oh fuck. He didn't, he really didn't want to spank Blaine. But seeing him offer up his beautiful ass and ask for it brought his hard-on back with a vengeance. Still, he could stay calm. He wasn't a slave to his desires. "I don't," he said, as straight-forwardly and unemotionally as he could manage.

"But you have to. I disobeyed."

"Hey! Are you telling your daddy what to do, young man?" Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit.

Blaine gulped. "No, sir." He straightened his legs and lay flat on his stomach.

"I should hope not. Do little boys tell daddies what to do? Or do daddies tell little boys what to do?"

"Daddies tell little boys."

"That's right. Put your bottom back up the way it was." Blaine quickly complied. "That's right, baby. Such a good boy. So beautiful. There are lots of things I'd like to do to your ass, but spanking it isn't one of them."

"What things, daddy?"

Oh God. "I'd like to touch it. I touched it before but you still had your pants on. Would you like me to touch it again, without your pants on?" What was he doing? This wasn't not making things worse.

"Yes, daddy. Please?"

Sam grabbed him with both hands and squeezed. God, he was so perfect. He couldn't stop himself, he was definitely going to make things worse. He pulled Blaine's cheeks apart to reveal his perfect little puckered hole. He wet his finger in his mouth and used it to trace around the little circle.

"Daddy!" Blaine gasped.

Sam brought his lips to Blaine's ear. "I want to fuck you, Blaine. I want to fuck you more than anything. But I'm not your daddy, now, telling you what to do. I'm asking if you want me to. You can say no. If you're at all unsure, you should say no. Do you understand?"

"I understand, daddy—"

"Uh-uh. Don't call me that right now."

Blaine turned his head and looked Sam in the eye, though he was still essentially face down on the bed with his ass in the air. "I understand, Mr. Evans. I want you—"

"Hold up, there's one more thing. Well, there are a lot of reasons you should say no, and I wouldn't be mad at all...I won't be mad at all if you do..." He wouldn't be mad, but he was hoping so hard that Blaine wouldn't say no. "I don't have any condoms." Quinn was on the pill, so they never used them. He didn't have any lube either—Quinn didn't need it for any of their regular activities, and she hadn't ever wanted to do anal after the two or three times they tried it the first year they were married. But he knew from porn that spit could work too—he'd just have to be very careful and very patient.

"Oh, but I'm a..." Blaine lowered his voice and said, "I'm a virgin. I don't think it would be possible for you to catch anything from me."

Sam smiled at him. God, he was so sweet and innocent. "That's not what I'm worried about, sweetheart. And actually I'm not worried about you catching anything from me; if I were I wouldn't even consider this. I've never been with anyone but Mrs. Evans in my whole life, and I'm...ninety-nine point nine percent certain she hasn't been with anyone but me. But the point is, besides that point one percent chance that I'm wrong, it's not a good idea to have sex with older men without condoms. With any men without condoms."

"You've really never..."

Sam looked down and brushed one of Blaine's curls away from his eyes. "Cheated on my wife before? No."

"But you want to with me?" he whispered.

"Blaine, sweetheart." He started rubbing Blaine's back. "I know it's not fair of me to ask you to make a decision like this. I know I'm the one who should put a stop to this right now—"

"No! Please, don't, Mr. Evans!"

"But I...there's something about you, Blaine...I want you so bad that the only thing that will keep me from making love to you right now is if you don't want it just as bad."

"But I do want it! I'm sure I want it way worse than you, I want it more than anything. I'll...I'll beg, I'll do anything you want. Just...just please, Mr. Evans. Please, please fuck me, sir."

Oh God. If there had been any smidgeon of hope, any smidgeon at all, of Sam being able to stop, it was completely gone now. He palmed his hard cock through his jeans and whispered, "You can call me daddy again. If you want."

"Daddy? Can I see your..." He looked longingly at the bulge in Sam's jeans.

"You wanna see my cock, baby?"

"Please?"

Sam opened his pants and pushed them down to his knees. He slowly reached inside his boxer briefs and pulled his cock out. Blaine went slack-jawed looking at it. "Oh my God. Oh my God, daddy, it's..." He reached for it but stopped a few inches away. "Can I touch it?"

"You can touch it, sweetheart."

Blaine just barely touched him and he thought he would die. It sent a shock through him, an electrical charge, that he actually thought might kill him. But it didn't kill him, it made him feel more alive than ever. "Do you wanna taste it, baby? You don't have to..."

"So much, daddy, please..." Blaine might have begged some more but then his mouth was busy tasting and exploring Sam's dick. He had his fingers and his tongue all over it and he managed somehow to be gentle and intense at the same time. Sam almost couldn't take all that pleasure at once. When Blaine closed his lips around the shaft and gave a tentative suck Sam had to move his head away. "I'm sorry, daddy, was that bad?"

"No, sweetheart, it was too good. I don't want to let you make me come yet."

"I almost made you come?" Blaine asked with a mix of surprise and pride.

"So close, baby. You have no idea." He stripped off the clothes he still had on and knelt behind Blaine, who still had his perfect ass up in the air. "Jesus Christ, Blaine," he whispered, though it was more to himself than to the boy in front of him.

He grabbed Blaine's hips and kissed a spot on his inner thigh. Starting from that spot he licked a broad, steady stripe up, past the crease where thigh met cheek, into the valley of his crack, not stopping until he reached that sweet, tight hole he wanted to get inside so much. He had never rimmed anyone before—meaning he had never rimmed Quinn before, as she'd been his only sex partner until now—and he had never wanted to, but now that he had his face buried in Blaine's ass he was finding it way hotter than he ever would have dreamed.

It didn't taste bad, for one thing. It smelled and tasted like...like Blaine, but more concentrated, and like sex, but also concentrated. And Blaine's skin was warm and soft—soft even on his ass. But the best thing was the way Blaine reacted to his tongue. He moaned, low and guttural, into the pillow—he was trying so hard to be quiet like his daddy had told him to. He pushed his ass back hard against Sam's face. Sam moved his hips forward when it got too much, and Blaine whimpered, "I'm sorry, daddy, I'm trying to hold still, it just feels so good!"

"I know, baby, it's okay. I'm going to lick inside you now, sweetheart. Are you ready?"

"So ready, daddy, please!" Blaine rocked back and forth in anticipation, so much that Sam had to grab his hips again and steady him.

Sam slowly pushed his tongue through Blaine's tight ring of muscle. He felt it relax and give under his touch. He was inside Blaine now, and he almost couldn't comprehend it, it was so hot.

Blaine's knees gave out and he fell forward. Sam fell with him, working his tongue in more insistently. Blaine bit down on the pillow and used it to try to muffle the moans of pleasure he couldn't contain. His hips started jerking and Sam realized he was humping the bed. "Don't come yet, sweetheart. Try not to come until I'm inside you."

"It's so good, daddy," Blaine whined. "I'll try. I'm trying really hard."

"I know, baby. You're doing so good." He held Blaine's hips in place while he continued to lick him open, using lots of spit and adding fingers as soon as he thought he could do so without hurting the boy.

Shortly after Sam added a third finger, the noises Blaine was making changed. It sounded like...it almost sounded like he was crying. Oh God, what had he done? Sam pulled all his fingers out and lay down next to him. "I'm sorry, baby, did I hurt you?"

"No!" Blaine said. He looked at Sam and his face was red and he had hair stuck to his damp forehead. "It's just getting too hard to wait. I need to come, daddy, and I'm trying so hard not to, and I need to feel you in me and not just your fingers and your tongue, and—"

"Okay, baby, okay. You've done so good, baby. I won't make you wait any longer. Just get my cock wet for me so it won't hurt when I fuck you."

"Oh God! Thank you, daddy, thank you!" He enthusiastically took Sam's cock in his mouth, and he would have happily sucked him off if Sam hadn't pulled out quickly.

"Lie on your back, baby, and pull your knees up to your chest." Blaine did what Sam told him, and he just looked so...so wanton like that, so lewd, Sam didn't know how he wasn't constantly fighting off men who wanted to fuck him. But Blaine didn't want other men fucking him. Only Sam.

He spit on his fingers and spread the little bit of extra moisture around Blaine's entrance. He pressed the tip of his cock against Blaine's rim and held it there for a few seconds. "Are you sure you want this, baby? Blaine?"

"Daddy, please! I'll literally go crazy if you don't!"

Sam pushed the head in. Oh God. Oh God, oh God. He had never felt anything so incredible in his life. Blaine was holding perfectly still except that his ass was clenching like crazy and he was breathing hard. "You okay, sweetheart? Does it hurt?"

"Not exactly," Blaine said through gritted teeth.

"Should I stop?"

"No! Please don't stop! I wouldn't care if it did hurt, I don't want you to stop."

"I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart."

"You're not. It doesn't hurt. It's just...it's a lot."

"Okay. Just relax, baby. I won't move until you're ready. We've got plenty of time, and once you can relax this'll feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, sweetheart." He wasn't sure at all. How would he know? He'd never taken a cock. He had managed to not seriously hurt Quinn those few times, but he hadn't made it mind-blowingly great for her either. Of course he didn't say any of this to Blaine. But what _was_ he supposed to say, since Blaine didn't want him to stop? He said, "Trust me, baby, once you relax it'll feel so good."

"Okay."

"Okay." Sam kissed his neck. He whispered in his ear, "You're so beautiful. Doing so good, baby. Such a good boy for daddy."

Blaine whimpered. "A little more daddy. Please."

"So good. You make daddy so happy. You're so—"

"I meant more of your...I meant you can go in a little farther." Blaine opened his eyes and looked into Sam's. "But I like you talking to me like that too."

"Yeah? You're ready for more of daddy's cock?"

"Please, daddy. You make me so happy too."

Sam wanted to say something sweet back to him, but as he pushed just a teensy bit farther in the only words he could form were, "Oh, fuck, Blaine, Jesus, you feel good." Blaine's eyes were squeezed shut and he was holding his breath. "Okay, breathe, sweetheart. Just relax and breathe. Daddy's got you."

It took forever—it really seemed to take forever—for Sam to get his cock completely buried in Blaine, so deep that his balls slapped against his ass and he couldn't go any farther. But Blaine was so gorgeous taking his cock, so innocent and carnal at the same time, and God, he felt so good, that Sam wasn't about to complain. He held still and watched while Blaine relaxed and steadied his breathing, which didn't take nearly as long as after the first intrusion. "God, Blaine, you're amazing."

"Daddy."

"I wanna start moving now. Are you ready, baby?"

"Uh-huh. I'm ready, please."

Sam pulled partway out and rocked slowly but steadily back into Blaine. Fuck, he felt so good. Blaine wrapped his legs around him and crossed his ankles just above Sam's ass. It wasn't too long before he was lifting his ass up to meet Sam's thrusts and pushing with his heels to bring him in deeper.

Soon he was whining and gasping, biting his own fist from time to time to keep from screaming. "Daddy, please," he said desperately. "Please, I need to come."

Sam barely got his hand around Blaine's dick before his whole body started to shake. "Daddy, daddy, God..." Blaine held the pillow over his face and screamed into it while he fucked forcefully into Sam's fist. Sam really didn't think his ass could be any tighter, but when he was convulsing with orgasm the pressure on Sam's cock was so overwhelming he couldn't have held off his own orgasm no matter how hard he might have tried.

Blaine's walls milked all the come right out of him. Over and over. Every time he'd shot out all the come he thought he could possibly have, Blaine would squeeze his cock again and out would come more. And each release was so overwhelmingly...just overwhelmingly good...His vision actually blurred and he was pretty sure his extremities went numb and he could swear he felt a rush of...of endorphins or dopamine or whatever the "life is swell" chemical was called zipping through his bloodstream and straight into his brain.

He collapsed, panting, onto Blaine, who was panting too and staring at the ceiling with a dazed look on his face. "Okay, baby?"

Blaine lips turned up in a smile, seemingly without his even realizing it. "So good, daddy." He looked into Sam's eyes. "Is it okay if I call you that for just a little while longer?"

"You can call me that until four-thirty a.m., sweetheart." He rolled off Blaine and set the alarm clock next to the bed. "Matilda wakes up early—especially when she's been up late the night before, even though that makes no sense—so at four-thirty I have to go into my own bedroom."

"I wish you didn't," Blaine said.

"I know, baby." Sam pulled him into a close cuddle. "For the next few hours we can pretend I don't."


	4. Interlude

Mrs. Evans sat in bed propped up by a myriad of pillows. Her adorable daughter Matilda was regaling her with her knowledge of pterosaurs (which were not dinosaurs), and Mrs. Evans was doing her best to look interested. She loved her daughter very much, but it was just so difficult to focus. She was so tired lately...

She began to cough right in the middle of a charming anecdote about pterosaurs. She tried to suppress the cough but couldn't. Little Matilda looked alarmed. "Mommy, why is there so much blood when you cough?" "It's nothing, darling," said Mrs. Evans nonchalantly. "Would you ask your daddy to come in here, please?" The preschooler loved nothing more than to be helpful, and so she scampered off happily to do as her mommy requested.

Mr. Evans strode into the room. His gleaming blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight that dappled in through the open curtains. His handsome green eyes twinkled. He was shirtless, as he often was when he tackled various chores around the house, and a thin layer of perspiration glistened on his rippling pecs and abs. He smiled impishly, until he noticed the distress on his wife's face and his expression turned to one of grave concern. "Darling, you look unwell. I think your cold is getting worse."

Mrs. Evans knew it was no mere cold that plagued her, but she hadn't the heart to tell her family. She faked a merry laugh and said, "Don't be silly, dear. I'll be up and out of this bed in no time."

"But darling." Mr. Evans sat next to her and placed his large, strong hand gently on her forehead. "You're so pale. If it weren't for these red splotches on your cheeks I'd swear you were a ghost."

"A ghost!" the blonde woman laughed. "You know there's no such thing." Her look turned serious. "But if there were, I would want you to know that I would never, ever haunt you."

"Darling!" said her shocked husband. "Why must you say something so morbid?"

The ill woman coughed into her handkerchief, careful to conceal the blood from her fretful husband. "I'm not being morbid, but I must talk to you seriously. If anything should happen to me, I want you and the children to be happy. I want you to move on with your life. Forget about me, or if you must remember me, remember how I only care about your happiness."

"Darling, now you're positively scaring me," her worried husband said.

"Oh, I don't want to frighten you. Just promise me you'll heed my wishes, and then we can speak of more pleasant things," she said.

"Yes, of course, but..."

Mrs. Evans cut him off. "You know, darling, I've been thinking that we should take the children to the Alps this summer..."

That night, Mrs. Evans took a turn for the worse. She knew she didn't have much longer, and so she woke up her adorably tussled husband sleeping next to her. "Darling..." She had a coughing fit, and this time she couldn't prevent her heartbreakingly handsome husband from noticing the blood.

"Oh my God! What's wrong! I must get you to a hospital right away!" he exclaimed worriedly.

"There's no time for that," Mrs. Evans sighed. "I'm afraid I've been keeping something from you. I...I'm dying of consumption. No, don't speak, darling, there's something I must tell you. I know that you're in love with the babysitter."

The father of her children broke down in tears. "I'm so sorry, darling! I never wanted to hurt you, but yes, I love him."

"I know, darling," Mrs. Evans said. She paused as she coughed up more blood. "I know and I forgive you. I want you to be with him and be happy."

"Darling, please don't talk this way," Mr. Evans said. "You'll be fine, I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I know, darling. And I don't want you to be sad for even one moment. Now, please, let's not talk any longer. Just hold me until morning. Not as lovers, because I know your heart belongs to someone else now, but as friends."

"Yes, of course, darling," said Mr. Evans. "Whatever you want."

Mrs. Evans cuddled into her husband's warm yet sexless embrace. When her husband awoke with the morning light she was no longer breathing.

Blaine walked into his room to find Sebastian doubled over in laughter. Nick had obviously been laughing too, but he stopped when he saw Blaine and looked guiltily at Sebastian. "What's going on?" Blaine asked.

"'Mrs. Evans knew it was no mere cold that plagued her,'" Sebastian quoted dramatically before bursting out in laughter again.

Blaine was speechless. He saw his laptop open on the desk and slammed it shut. "Nick! How could you let him..."

"Sorry," Nick said. "I had no idea what you were writing." He obviously had to work at stifling more giggles.

"Get the hell out of our room, Sebastian!" Blaine yelled. Then at Nick he yelled, "Why do you even let him in here? Jesus!"

"Fine, I'm leaving," Sebastian said. He paused in the doorway and added, "But seriously, Blaine? Consumption? What are we living in, nineteenth century Russia?"

He walked down the hall and Blaine yelled after him, "Consumption is tuberculosis! I just read about an outbreak in Nevada!"

Sebastian spun around just long enough to roll his eyes and kept walking. Blaine let the door to his room close and kicked it hard a couple times. "I'm really sorry," Nick said. "I really didn't know you were writing...whatever that was."

"It's a writing assignment for English," Blaine said. "Obviously."

Nick said, "Okay. Well, I don't think you should turn it in. I think if you turn it in Mr. Goodman will think you're in love with someone you babysit for and you want his wife dead."

Blaine didn't actually want Mrs. Evans dead. It was just hard to imagine Mr. Evans leaving her. He wouldn't want to hurt her, or the girls. Even though she was probably horrible to him. She probably got pregnant on purpose so Mr. Evans would have to marry her. She probably knew he was gay even and thought she could "cure" him.

Or maybe not. Maybe she was actually as nice as she seemed. Blaine didn't care actually, and he could accept...he knew he had no choice but to accept that Mr. Evans probably wasn't going to leave her for him. At least not until he was eighteen. He just wished Mr. Evans would call.


	5. A Trip to Westerville

Sam and Quinn didn't go out much in January. Just once, in fact, and they got Tina to sit. She claimed not to be available at first, but Sam said to her, "I know Blaine asked you to turn us down because he needs the money. But isn't he at school, and isn't his school a couple hours away?" Actually Sam knew exactly how far away Blaine's school was, as he had mapped out the route online many times. And...he had driven out there once.

Because it was easy enough not to see Blaine again. It was harder not to call him, though he managed it. But it was impossible not to think about him. And he tried, he really tried.

He tried having lots of sex with his wife. He tried avoiding sex with his wife. He tried watching straight porn. He tried watching gay porn. As soon as he realized that the only gay porn he got off to was the stuff with a "daddy" and a barely legal teen he stopped watching porn altogether. And scrubbed his browser history. And decided it was really time for a new laptop anyway and erased the hard drive of his old one before getting rid of it.

But he couldn't erase his memory, and he couldn't erase his desire to hold Blaine again, to kiss him, and, yes, to fuck him again. To fuck him while Blaine said, "Please, daddy, _please_!"

One morning in early February he was driving out to a job when the client called. She was so sorry, she knew Sam was supposed to start on her kitchen today, but could he possibly wait a day? All three of her kids—a four-year-old and eighteen-month-old twins—were sick and cranky and it was just chaos today. Sam told her he understood and it was fine, he could start tomorrow.

And he had a whole day in front of him with nothing to do and nowhere to be.

Of course, there was always paperwork and other business stuff that had to be done. But he hadn't been planning on doing that stuff today anyway.

He found himself calling Blaine.

"Mmm...'lo?" Shit, Blaine even sounded sexy when he was half asleep. Sam was in the habit of starting work no later than seven, so he hadn't even thought about it being early when he called.

"Blaine. It's...Mr. Evans."

"Oh!" Blaine sounded wide awake now.

"I was wondering if you'd...be available to babysit today?"

"Yes! Um, what time?"

"Actually I don't need you to babysit."

"Are you sure? Because I can, I mean I won't do anything—"

"What I really wanted to ask is if I could see you."

"Yes! I was..." Blaine lowered his voice and added, "I was worried I might never see you again, and I really want to. When?"

"Right away. Or soon as I can get there, I'm still in Lima. How much trouble will you be in if you skip some classes today?"

"Not too much," Blaine said in a way Sam didn't totally believe. "I mean, I never have before, so once won't hurt."

Oh God, it was bad enough Sam couldn't leave this _underage boy_ alone, now he was actually trying to get in the way of his education. "Blaine, I'm sorry, this was a bad idea. I shouldn't have called."

"No! It wasn't a bad idea! Please..." He paused for a moment and then whispered, "I'm not totally alone. Can I text you?"

Sam took a deep breath and said, "No."

"No? Okay, just don't hang up—"

"Don't text me because I won't be able to read it. I'll be driving. To Westerville."

Sam made one stop on the way: he stopped at a drugstore in Dublin, pulled some cash out of an ATM, and bought some lube. When he pulled into the McDonalds parking lot a few blocks away from Dalton, Blaine was waiting for him, wearing sweat pants, tennis shoes, and a hoodie.

He got in the car, and Sam touched his shoulder. "Aren't you cold, sweetheart?"

"A little," Blaine admitted, "but I told my roommate I was going jogging, so..."

"Aw, and I was looking forward to seeing you in your school uniform."

Blaine looked down at his gray sweats. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans! I know I don't look very good like this."

"Blaine." Sam lifted Blaine's chin so the boy would look at him. "You're beautiful. I was only joking. You look amazing in anything." Or in nothing, he thought but didn't add. There was still time to not do this. At least he should give Blaine a chance to back out. "Do you...You know why I wanted to see you, don't you?"

Blaine looked down again and peered up at Sam through his eyelashes. "Because you want to do dirty things to me? Daddy?"

Oh, fuck. Sam was such a goner. "And do you want your daddy to do dirty things to you?"

Blaine smiled coquettishly and nodded. Sam leaned across Blaine for the seatbelt. He fastened him in, saying, "Gotta keep you safe, sweetheart."

He drove them to the hotel that he had scoped out on his first drive out to Westerville. He told Blaine to wait in the car while he went inside for a room, trying to act like there was nothing unusual about paying cash for a hotel room at nine in the morning. And maybe there wasn't anything unusual about it. People had affairs all the time. Sam was hardly the only adulterer in the world.

God, he shouldn't have left Blaine in the car. He didn't have pangs of conscience when he was around Blaine. Not as much anyway.

He didn't have any pangs at all when he got Blaine to the room. He picked him up, carried him to the bed, laid him down, and undressed him wordlessly. Blaine blushed as Sam stood over him, raking over every inch of his body with his eyes. His cock got so hard he was afraid it was going to pop the button off his jeans. "So gorgeous, baby," he whispered.

Quickly shedding his own clothes, Sam stroked himself lightly. "Can I do that, daddy?" Blaine asked.

"Not yet, sweetheart. You can touch daddy's cock, but not yet."

Blaine whined a little, but his whine turned into a whimper when Sam knelt over him and kissed him. He sucked and nipped at Blaine's earlobe and whispered to him, "Who do you belong to, baby?"

"You, daddy," Blaine answered without hesitating.

"Do you let any of the boys at your school touch you?"

"No. There's only one who wants to anyway."

"Yeah? This boy who wants in your pants? We need to show him you belong to someone else, don't we?"

Blaine nodded. "Do you wanna...mark me?" he asked, baring his neck invitingly. So what could Sam do? Of course he sucked a series of hickeys into the boy's smooth flesh while Blaine writhed and moaned beneath him. When he raised his head to study the bruises he'd left, Blaine gazed up at him and asked, "I really belong to you now, daddy?"

Sam stroked his hair and said, "You really do, baby."

Blaine clung to him and said, "I'm so glad. I was so worried you never wanted to see me again."

Fuck. Sam realized he had just promised to keep seeing Blaine. Which was exactly what he wanted, of course, but still he shouldn't have promised. But he already did, so... "Of course I want to see you again, sweetheart. You just have to understand how hard it is for me to—"

"I know. You're married."

God, Blaine looked so sad when he said that it broke Sam's heart. "Let's not talk about that right now. Right now we're here together." He kissed down Blaine's chest, pulling small whimpers out of him. He kissed down to his stomach and over his hips. He hovered over Blaine's dick, breathing on it heavily. "Look how hard you are for me, baby."

Blaine's cock twitched and he arched up, trying to make contact. "Will you touch it, daddy? Please?"

"Touch what, baby?"

"You like making me say it, don't you? You made me say it last time too."

"I do like making you say it." Sam trailed his fingers up and down Blaine's side while he spoke. "Because you blushed last time and it was so hot. It's so hot that you're so pure and innocent—except when you're with me."

"I can't help it, daddy. I get so crazy when I'm around you."

"So crazy that you're dying for me to touch your...?"

"So crazy, daddy, that I think I'll die if you don't touch my cock," Blaine said, the last two words barely above a whisper. And he blushed again too, it was so fucking hot.

Sam brushed his fingers lightly over Blaine's cock and said, "Such a good boy." Blaine gasped and arched. Sam added a little more pressure and said, "Such a good little boy, and such a gorgeous cock."

Blaine whined even before Sam's tongue touched him. And then when it did touch him, when Sam took his first taste of Blaine's dick, Blaine let out a moan so deep and primal...Sam needed to keep hearing him make that noise. He circled the head with his tongue and he slowly took the whole length in his mouth. Blaine's primal noises continued, and he clutched the blanket in a death grip. Sam no sooner brushed his balls with his fingertips and gave his cock a powerful suck than Blaine was bucking up and shouting, "Daddy! God, daddy!" and shooting ropes of salty, warm come down Sam's throat. Sam hadn't really meant to make Blaine come in his mouth, but he found it was incredibly hot that he did. He kept sucking until Blaine was empty.

"I'm sorry, daddy," Blaine said as Sam kissed his thighs. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shh, don't apologize, baby. You're my good little boy, Daddy likes when you come for him." He didn't wait for Blaine to reply before he flipped him on his stomach and spread his legs apart. "You wanna take daddy's cock, baby? You want daddy to fuck you?"

"Please, daddy!"

Sam dove in and started licking Blaine's hole open. He had lube so he could have just stretched him with his fingers, but he loved the noises Blaine made when he was getting rimmed. He sounded so desperate, even though he just came, and soon he was humping the mattress and biting down on the pillow. "You don't have to muffle yourself, baby. You can be loud if you want."

Blaine wailed. He wailed and started humping the bed like crazy—Sam had a hard time keeping his tongue inside him because he was thrashing around so much. "Daddy," he whined, "daddy, I think I might...is it okay if I..."

"Get up on your knees, baby." Blaine did, and Sam grabbed his cock, eliciting the sexiest groan yet from the boy. Plunging his tongue in and out of Blaine's ass, Sam barely had to jerk his cock at all before he was screaming out another orgasm, spraying the sheets below him with come.

When he was finished unloading he collapsed like a rag doll, not even seeming to notice, much less mind, the wet spot under his stomach. "You're so good to me, daddy," he muttered, sounding as if he might fall asleep.

Sam patted him on the butt and stood up. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now it's your turn to be good to daddy."

Blaine lifted his head and looked at Sam with gleaming eyes. "Do I get to suck you?"

It wasn't actually what Sam had in mind. He had gotten up to get the lube so he could fuck Blaine. But if his little boy _wanted_ to suck his cock, he could hardly say no. He got the lube out of his coat pocket for later, set it on the bedside table, and stood near Blaine's head. "Do you get to suck me? Have you been a good boy?"

Blaine nodded earnestly and propped himself up on his elbows. "Please, daddy?"

"Well since you've been good..."

After concentrating on Blaine so much, the sensation of a warm, wet tongue on his dick was a shock that almost made him lose his balance. He steadied himself with a hand on Blaine's head, working his fingers through the boy's hair and holding on tight. Blaine didn't have much of a cocksucking technique, but his eagerness and enthusiasm were huge turn-ons. Honestly just getting a blowjob from someone who really wanted to give one was kind of amazing. And Blaine made it seem like Sam was the one doing him a favor by letting him.

While Blaine moaned and sucked with abandon, Sam felt saliva dribbling onto his balls. Then Blaine started rubbing the spit around with his fingers. Sam strengthened his grip on Blaine's hair, and when he felt his balls start to tighten he moved his head away. Blaine looked up at him, his lips bright red, the lower half of his face wet, and his eyes dazed yet unmistakably disappointed. "I wanted to taste you," he said.

"What do you mean, baby?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "You just had my cock in your mouth."

"Yeah, but I mean I wanted you to...you know, in my mouth."

"You wanted me to come in your pretty mouth, sweetheart?"

Blaine bit the tip of his index finger and nodded.

"I'd love to come in your mouth sometime, baby. But right now I have other plans." He maneuvered Blaine onto his stomach again. He grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and pulled them apart, revealing the little hole he'd already worked open with his tongue. He took one more long, slow lick. Then he grabbed the lube and coated the rim, dipping his fingers inside as Blaine squirmed under him. He coated his dick and patted Blaine's ass. "Up on your hands and knees, baby."

"Oh God," Blaine said as he scrambled to obey. He pushed his ass up and toward Sam. "Please, daddy. Please, I want you so bad."

Sam got on his knees behind Blaine. He pushed into him in one slow but steady movement. "Jesus Christ, Blaine, you feel so good," he whispered. Then, because he realized Blaine was holding his breath, he held still and said, "Breathe, sweetheart. Daddy's got you."

Blaine took a few deep breaths and Sam saw his muscles relax. He still didn't move, though, until Blaine started to rock back on his cock.

"How are you doing, baby?" Sam asked, rubbing his back.

"So good, daddy. Please. Please fuck me hard."

As much as Sam loved to hear Blaine ask for it, he didn't wait for him to ask twice. He gripped the boy's hips and held them in place while he fucked into him, harder and faster with each thrust. His hips kept snapping forward, and he looked down at this beautiful boy taking his cock not just willingly but ecstatically, if his shouts of "God!" and "Please!" and "Daddy!" were any indication.

He pounded into Blaine, holding off his orgasm as long as he could. When he felt himself nearing the point of no return, he reached under Blaine and found that his cock was hard again. He jerked it quickly, saying, "I'm gonna come, baby. Think you can come with me?"

Blaine could and did—he started first, in fact, as soon as Sam asked him to. "Daddy, fuck!" were the last actual words he got out before his ear-shattering vocalizations turned to nonverbal groans, squeals, and gasps. His ass clamped down on Sam's cock, jerking it forward every time he thrust into Sam's hand. With Blaine's muscles contracting around him, Sam was relieved of his load in a series of powerful bursts that he felt throughout his body; in fact they consumed his whole consciousness.

After he was depleted he slowly returned to reality. Blaine was slumped forward face-down on the mattress. His ass was still up, and Sam's come was trickling out of it. He collapsed on his back on the bed and pulled Blaine onto his chest. He wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.

"I suppose I should get you back to school before you get in too much trouble," he said without enthusiasm.

"No, please. It's too nice here, with you holding me."

Sam didn't have it in him to insist on taking Blaine back right away. He pulled the blanket over them and pulled Blaine in a little closer. "How are you, baby? I hope you're not going to be sore."

"I hope I will be," Blaine said. "I know I probably won't get to see you again soon, so I want to feel you as long as I can."

"Yeah?" Sam rubbed his hand over Blaine's butt.

"Yeah. It'll remind me that I belong to you."

Yeah, that stuff about Blaine belonging to him—Sam really shouldn't have said that. It kind of belied his intention not to keep doing this, for one thing. And for another thing, what right did he have to be jealous when it came to Blaine? Why shouldn't Blaine date boys his own age if he wanted to?

And yet, he was jealous. The thought of another guy touching his baby filled him with rage. Hearing Blaine say he belonged to him, on the other hand, filled him with lust and affection. And so instead of saying something reasonable and responsible, he said, "Tell me about this guy who's been bothering you."

"Bothering me?" Blaine asked.

"The guy who wants to fuck you. Does he know you belong to someone?"

"Oh, Sebastian. No, he doesn't know...I didn't want to get you in trouble or me in trouble, so I haven't told anyone. He knows I'm not interested though."

"Good. You let me know if he gives you any trouble. Okay, baby?"

"Okay, daddy."

They lay in bed the rest of the morning, dozing on and off. Around noon Blaine's stomach started rumbling. Sam realized he probably hadn't eaten all day. He kissed his forehead and said, "Come on, sweetheart. I'll buy you lunch. Then I really need to get you back to school."

"Don't wanna," Blaine said petulantly.

"Blaine Anderson, do not talk back to your daddy," Sam said. This time he was only joking about the daddy thing.

Blaine wasn't joking, though, when he made a pouty face and said, "But, daddy, you said you'd let me taste you." He rested his chin on Sam's shoulder and let his hand creep down his chest. Sam felt his dick start to stir again.

"Did I?" he teased. "Are you sure?"

Blaine nodded seriously. "You promised."

"Well. Daddies always keep their promises."

Blaine smiled and his head disappeared under the covers. There was an obscene slurping sound as he sucked Sam's cock into his mouth. As Sam hardened, Blaine had to slide his mouth back because he couldn't take it all anymore. He seemed determined to try, though, and with each bob of his head he took in a little more; it wasn't long before Sam felt himself hitting the back of Blaine's throat. "Fuck, that's good, baby," he said. "But don't make yourself gag, okay?" Blaine didn't listen, at least not until he did gag, and then he let up a bit.

And it was incredible. Quinn never sucked his cock like this. She didn't mind doing it, exactly, but she didn't seem to especially enjoy it either. Blaine clearly enjoyed it. He was humping the mattress while he sucked like there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing. And maybe there was nothing.

Sam wasn't even embarrassed to come really soon. This was what Blaine asked for, after all: to taste his come. He held Blaine's head while he unloaded into his willing mouth. "Take my fucking come," he said while his baby moaned as he sucked him dry.

Blaine kept sucking even after Sam's cock went soft. Sam grabbed him under his arms and pulled him up, saying, "Kiss me, sweetheart."

"Was it good, daddy?"

"So good, baby. You're so good at that."

Blaine smiled proudly. "You taste really good."

Sam pulled him in for that kiss. He could taste himself in his boy's mouth, and he loved knowing that Blaine liked that taste.

Blaine squirmed on top of him while they kissed; Sam felt his hard dick rubbing against his abs. He coaxed Blaine's legs onto either side of him to help him get better leverage. Blaine rutted against him, faster and faster, until he stopped suddenly and pulled away from the kiss. "Daddy, I think I'm going to..."

"I know, baby. I told you: I love it when you come."

"Even if it gets on you?" Blaine asked with a slight crack in his voice.

"Especially if it gets on me. Come on. Come for me and show me how much you love me." He grabbed Blaine's ass and urged him along in his thrusting against his abs. Blaine kissed him hard and deep, with a whine coming from the back of his throat.

He only just lifted his head in time to shout, "O-oh, daddy, daddy, daddy..." His come gushed out, leaving little puddles on Sam's chest and stomach. Once he was no longer in the throes of his orgasm he started to apologize. Sam assured him he had nothing to be sorry for, but still he rushed to the bathroom for a towel.

Sam got up too—he was pretty sure if he let Blaine get back in bed with him neither of them would ever get up. They cleaned up and got redressed, and Sam drove them to a nondescript Chinese restaurant down the street.

After ordering, they were both quiet. Before ordering they were able to talk about the menu and what looked good, but now...Sam had no idea what one was supposed to say in this situation. He assumed Blaine had even less idea, so he really needed to be the one to try to say _something._ "So..." he started, "you mentioned that you had a roommate earlier?"

"Yeah. Everyone does, there aren't any single rooms."

"It's not this Sebastian guy, I hope."

Blaine grinned, mostly to himself. "No. My roommate is sort of friends with Sebastian, but you don't have to worry about him, Mr. Evans."

Sam grumbled indistinctly in response. He wasn't worried about Sebastian, exactly. He just didn't like the guy. Or trust him. Or want him anywhere near Blaine.

When the eggrolls came, Blaine put one on his plate. He looked at it but didn't take a bite. Playing with it a little, he said, "Can I ask you something, Mr. Evans?"

"Of course, sw-...Of course, Blaine."

Blaine leaned across the table and spoke in a near-whisper. "Remember earlier when we were...well, you know, not long before we came here for lunch?"

Sam thought it was a rhetorical question, but Blaine was actually waiting for an answer, so he said, "Yes."

"Well, and you said...you told me to show you how much I love you."

Shit. "Did I? I'm sorry, I may have gotten carried away. I didn't mean that I think you...or that you have to..."

"But I do!" Blaine covered his mouth, but he looked right into Sam's eyes for a moment before looking back at the eggroll and adding, "I hope that's okay."

"It's probably not..." Sam was about to say it probably wasn't a good idea, but he realized it most likely wasn't something Blaine had consciously decided to do. So instead he said, "You can't help the way you feel."

Blaine nodded. He picked up his eggroll and moved it toward his mouth but put it back down without taking a bite. "Do you?" he whispered.

Sam panicked. He thought maybe he did, actually, but that was insane, it was preposterous for a married, 99-percent straight, thirty-year-old man to fall in love with a seventeen-year-old boy he barely knew. He didn't even know Blaine had a roommate until today! And even if he were in love with him—absurd though that would be—it wasn't like he could say it out loud. It wasn't like he could let Blaine think they had a future together. Sure, Blaine would be eighteen in not too long, but Sam would still be married. And even if he didn't love Quinn anymore...and he did, he was pretty sure, as much as he did before, at least, if he didn't compare her to Blaine. And it wouldn't be fair...It wasn't Quinn's fault he had fallen in...Fuck. But even putting aside the question of Quinn, there were his daughters to think of. Did they deserve for their family to be broken up? No. Obviously not. So...

"I'm sorry," Blaine said. "I shouldn't have asked that. Forget I asked that, okay?"

"Let's both forget you asked."

Blaine nodded. He wasn't looking at Sam, but Sam was pretty sure he saw tears starting. Fuck, he wanted to hold him and smooth his hair and tell him of course he loved him and everything would be okay. But he couldn't do that.

Their entrees came, and they ate quickly and without talking, neither of them finishing even half their food. Sam asked if Blaine wanted to take the leftovers back to the dorm, but Blaine didn't think he should go back to school with any evidence of where he'd been.

Back in the car, Blaine asked, "Did you mean it earlier, when you said we'd see each other again? Because if you didn't I'd rather know now—"

"I meant it, sweetheart. I promise. And daddies always—"

"Daddies always keep their promises," Blaine finished for him with a sad smile. "But they don't always."

"Well, I do." He took Blaine's hand and kissed it. "I can't promise when because I don't know. It might be a while. Will you wait for me?"

Blaine nodded solemnly. "As long as I still belong to you. And I'll belong to you as long as you want me to."

Sam started the car but hesitated before pulling out of the parking lot. "I really need to get you back to school, and I need to get back to Lima. But...do you want another reminder? Of how much I want you to belong to me?"

"Like a physical reminder?"

"Like a physical reminder. We have to be quick though."

Blaine agreed, and Sam drove them back to the hotel. He had kept the room key, planning to stop back for a shower after dropping Blaine off. There wouldn't be time for that now, but so what?

He got the lube off the bedside table while Blaine took his shoes and pants off. He started to unzip his hoodie, but Sam moved him toward the wall and turned him to face it. "I meant it when I said this has to be really quick."

Blaine put his hands against the wall and Sam nudged his legs farther apart. He squirted a generous amount of lube in his fingers and coated Blaine's hole, which luckily felt like it didn't need to be restretched too much. As soon as he'd worked him open enough that he knew he wouldn't hurt the boy, he dropped his own pants and underwear to his ankles and lubed up his cock.

He positioned Blaine how he wanted him. Then with one hand on Blaine's hip and the other under his t-shirt on his chest, he pushed in until his cock was completely surrounded by that sweet ass. Damn, his baby felt good. He slammed his cock home again and again, and Blaine took it, his whole body lurching forward with each thrust.

"You belong to me," Sam said in his ear. "Don't you, baby? Say it."

"Yes," Blaine panted. "I belong to you. Please, daddy. Please touch my cock." He groaned as Sam wrapped his hand around it. Every time Sam pushed into him, it made his dick push into Sam's fist. "Oh fuck, daddy, oh fuck!"

"Language—"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Blaine started coming in Sam's hand. His ass muscles squeezed Sam so tight he thought he was going blind for a second. With one final, deep surge into Blaine, he released his load, shuddering as the aftershocks reverberated through his body.

They stayed just like they were for a moment, until Blaine turned around and put his head on Sam's chest, nuzzling into his neck. "Thank you for the extra reminder, daddy. I'll never forget whose I am."


	6. Restriction

Blaine ran from where he had Mr. Evans drop him off near the school's service entrance back to his room. Nick was leaning back in his chair with his feet on his desk, and Sebastian was sprawled out on top of Blaine's bed.

"Where have you been all day!?" Nick asked, almost tipping over backwards. "You missed every single class."

"I was out." He tried to sit down casually on the edge of Nick's bed, but it was kind of hard to do with his ass still beautifully sore. The way Sebastian was smirking at him—it was like he could tell. Well...good. Mr. Evans _wanted_ Sebastian to know that Blaine was taken.

"Hey, it's not like I care," Nick said. "But you might wanna come up with a better story than that for Dr. Marshall. He wants to see you."

"Oh shit!" Dr. Marshall was the dean of students. A real hard ass...or so Blaine had heard. He'd never actually been in trouble before. "I gotta get into my uniform! I should shower first. Do you think I should shower first, or will I just be in more trouble for being later?"

Sebastian rolled off Blaine's bed and stood in front of him. He pushed Blaine's hood down and ran a finger over his neck. "A shower isn't gonna wash away those love bites. That's what _I'd_ be worried about if I were you." He shook his head sadly. "And I thought you were saving yourself for me."

"In your dreams," Blaine said, pushing his hand away.

"That's true. I can still dream about doing you." Sebastian looked up at the ceiling dreamily.

"Jesus, get out of my way, perv. I have to get dressed." Blaine had decided not to shower. He thought whatever Dr. Marshall was going to do to him would be easier to take while he could still feel Mr. Evans's semen in and on him.

He got up and started taking off his clothes. When he caught Sebastian leering at him he yelled, "Get the hell out!"

"Not cool, Sebastian," Nick added.

Sebastian didn't leave, but he did dramatically turn to face the wall. "There. Now I can't see anything. But seriously, the blushing virgin act is getting old."

Blaine pulled on his uniform pants and rifled through his closet looking for a clean white shirt. "You know, if I were involved with someone, you'd just better hope he didn't hear you talking to me like that."

Sebastian laughed. "Did you just threaten to have your big, bad boyfriend beat me up?"

"Of course not." Blaine buttoned up his shirt and played around with the collar a little, hoping there was some way he could cover up the hickeys. But there wasn't—not without deviating significantly from the dress code. He gave up and started on his tie. "Besides, I never said I had a boyfriend."

"Right. My mistake." Sebastian turned away from the wall to look at him again. "But _if _you did, I'd tell you to tell him that I'm totally up for a threesome some time."

"Ha! You wish." Mr. Evans would never have any interest in a smarmy prick like Sebastian.

Blaine gave himself a last glance in the mirror. Even if those hickeys got him in extra trouble, he loved them. It was all worth it no matter what happened. He straightened his hair in a last-ditch attempt to make himself look more presentable and less wanton, but it was basically impossible without showering and shampooing and regelling, so screw it.

XOXOXO

Blaine got room restriction for three weeks. Since it was his first offense he only got one week for skipping a day of classes; the extra two weeks were for refusing to tell Dr. Marshall where he'd gone. Dr. Marshall seemed to think it was some sort of prank or dare that some of the other guys had put him up to, and Blaine didn't try to disabuse him of the idea. And even though he gave him two extra weeks for it, Dr. Marshall seemed to respect Blaine for refusing to rat out his friends. He didn't even mention the hickeys until Blaine was almost out of his office when he said, "And Anderson? I know it's hard for you guys with no girls around, but if you're going to mess around with one of your friends, tell him to take it easy on your neck. That's unbecoming."

The room restriction sucked. He was only allowed out of his room for classes, meals, and official school events, even on weekends. But if Dr. Marshall had found out the truth, then everything would be so much worse, so overall he knew he was lucky.

Mr. Evans called him at the beginning of the third week, the first time Blaine was actually glad to be stuck alone in his room at four in the afternoon. "Blaine, I need to see you again," he said breathlessly.

"Daddy!" Blaine cried happily. He knew Mr. Evans loved him, even if he couldn't say it. "I need to too."

"Can you meet me in the McDonalds parking lot again?"

"Yes! When?"

"Now. As soon as possible. I'm in Westerville right now."

"Oh! Um..." Blaine tried desperately to think of how he could manage it. It wasn't like anyone was guarding his room, but four o'clock was a busy time, and if any of the staff or faculty saw him not just out of his room but leaving campus...

"You're busy. I should've called before I drove out here."

"No! I just...I'm trying to think of a way to sneak out..."

"Why would you have to sneak out? I felt so bad about making you skip your classes last time so I came out later today."

"I'm..." He couldn't let Mr. Evans feel like he was responsible for getting Blaine in trouble, because then what if he felt so bad about it he decided never to see him again? "I'm sort in trouble for a prank. You know, no big deal or anything, but if I got caught breaking my room restriction then it might kinda be."

"So you've been a naughty boy, Blaine?"

Blaine's ears felt hot as he said, "Yes, daddy."

"Well. We can't have you getting in even more trouble. How long until your punishment is over?"

"Six more days. But, daddy, please, I can come, I just need to figure out—"

"That's enough, Blaine. We'll wait."

"Daddy, _please_!" Blaine was terrified that if Mr. Evans drove home without seeing him he would never come back.

"What did I say, Blaine?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "You said we'll wait."

"That's right. And you'll be a good boy for me, won't you?"

"Yes, daddy," Blaine said miserably.

"Good. I knew you would, baby. I'll see you in a week or so."

"Promise?"

There was a pause. "You know I can't promise when it'll be exactly. But I promise I'll be back. Okay, sweetheart?"

It wasn't okay, it wasn't even remotely okay, but what could he do? He said it was okay and he hung up and cried into his pillow.

He was still crying when there was a knock at his door about fifteen minutes later. Most of his friends would just barge in, so although he didn't want to see anyone he was curious enough to get up and answer. It was the dorm monitor, and next to him was Mr. Evans!

The monitor said, "Blaine, you're not allowed to have visitors until your restriction is over, but Mr. Evans's daughter is sick and he needs to ask you about how she seemed the last time you babysat her."

"Oh my God! Which daughter? Is she gonna be okay?"

"I'll let you two talk," the monitor said, and he left.

Blaine let Mr. Evans into the room. "Is it Willa? What—"

As soon as the door closed behind him, Mr. Evans pushed Blaine against it and kissed him hard. "The girls are fine, sweetheart. I just had to tell that guy something so he'd let me in. I couldn't go home without seeing you."

"Oh thank God," Blaine said. "Not just about the girls, but thank God you came. I mean...thank God you're here. Thank_ you_—"

"Sweetheart?"

"Yes, daddy?"

"I missed you, baby." He unbuttoned Blaine's shirt and kissed down his neck and chest. Then he opened up Blaine's pants and asked, "Is your roommate going to be gone for a while?"

Blaine moaned and reached out blindly to lock the door. "He won't walk in on us now."

"Doesn't he have a key?" Mr. Evans asked as he helped Blaine out of his shirt.

"Yeah, but..." This was kind of embarrassing. "We only ever lock the door when we're, um...you know, so the other one knows not to walk in for a few minutes."

Mr. Evans looked at him, very amused. "Are you telling me you sometimes jerk off, baby? And here I thought you were so sweet and innocent."

Blaine felt himself blush. But it wasn't fair, it was almost all Mr. Evans's fault, at least lately! "I think about you a lot," he said. "And I hardly ever get to really be with you, so..."

"Well. Let's take care of that, then." He pushed Blaine's pants down and Blaine stepped out of them. Then he picked Blaine up, asked him which bed was his, and carried him to the one Blaine indicated. He kissed down his chest and stomach, and right before he got to the waistband of his underwear he asked, "Do you want me to fuck you, baby? Do you want daddy's cock in you?"

Blaine squirmed. "Yes, daddy. Please. You don't have to ask, I always want it."

"But I like to hear you say it," his daddy said, right before he pulled his underwear off and flipped him onto his stomach. "Such a beautiful little ass. You're such a beautiful boy, Blaine. I think about you a lot too."

"Really, daddy?" Blaine so wanted his daddy to fuck his brains out. And after that he wanted to curl up in his lap forever. He spread his legs eagerly and lifted his ass.

"Really." And then his daddy was kissing him again, using his mouth to open up his hole to take his cock, driving Blaine nearly delirious with pleasure and desire. He simultaneously wanted Mr. Evans to never stop what he was doing and to hurry up and put his cock in him already. Not that he could articulate either of these desires; all he could do was whimper as he alternately pushed his ass closer to his daddy's face and rutted against the mattress.

He froze mid-rut, and Mr. Evans froze too, when they heard Nick try the door. He listened closely and heard Nick say, "Jesus, again? Goddamn it!" before he walked away.

Mr. Evans turned him over onto his back. "How long until he's gonna come back, sweetheart?"

"Twenty minutes maybe," Blaine said. He didn't add that that was at the absolute most, because he didn't want Mr. Evans to stop before they got to the main event. "Will you fuck me now, daddy? Please?"

"Twenty minutes isn't enough time, baby. I don't want to hurt you."

Blaine was about to protest that he didn't care if it hurt, but then Mr. Evans's mouth was on his dick, and that was hard to complain about. "Ooooh, daddy," he moaned.

"Don't hold back on me, sweetheart. I wanna feel you come in my mouth, I wanna taste it. You'll be a good boy and come for me, won't you?"

"Uh huh."

Mr. Evans's tongue circled his cock teasingly for just a few seconds before the whole thing was in his mouth. It was all he could do not to come immediately. And even though they didn't have much time and even though his daddy had told him not to hold back (ooh! maybe if he confessed to disobeying, his daddy would spank him), he did try not to let it be over too soon. It was difficult enough just with his daddy sucking his cock, but then he felt a finger in him, and it didn't hit that spot in him as perfectly as his daddy's cock did, but with the sucking at the same time it was more than enough. He cried out he didn't even know what as he surrendered to the inevitable. He bucked up into his daddy's mouth and released his load as waves of pleasure washed through him.

He was still trying to catch his breath when Mr. Evans licked up his body and captured his mouth in a kiss. His own come didn't taste as good as Mr. Evans's, but combined with the taste of Mr. Evans's mouth it was still pretty amazing.

"You'd better get dressed, baby, before your roommate comes back," his daddy said softly.

"No, but..." Blaine reached up and touched Mr. Evans's cock, so hard and still trapped inside his jeans. "But I didn't get to make you come."

Mr. Evans closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath at Blaine's touch. He said, "There's not enough time, baby, it's all right."

"It's _not_ all right," Blaine insisted. Mr. Evans didn't move away or make any move to stop Blaine from unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He pushed them down, along with his underwear, and then scooted down the bed until his head was under Mr. Evans's crotch. He hesitated just long enough to be sure his daddy wasn't really going to be mad at him, and then he raised his head up to take his daddy's cock in his mouth.

It was an awkward angle, and he couldn't actually breathe that well, but the way his daddy's cock smelled and tasted, and the way he was moaning with the pleasure Blaine was giving him—it was so awesome he didn't care about anything else. It wasn't long before Mr. Evans started to fuck down into his mouth, and even though it kind of made him gag Blaine just wanted more. He grabbed Mr. Evans's ass and pulled him deeper into his mouth and down his throat.

And then the door! Stupid fucking Nick was back again, trying the goddamn door again! Mr. Evans pulled out of his mouth, and he might have moved away altogether if Blaine hadn't held onto him so tight. Nick yelled, "For real, Blaine? I'm coming back in five minutes and I'm opening the door whether you're done or not!"

He so didn't want his daddy to stop yet, and as soon as they heard Nick walk away he begged him, "Please, daddy, please let me make you come. Please, so I'll know you still want me to belong to you."

"You want me to show you who you belong to, baby?"

"Yes, daddy, please," Blaine said desperately.

"Stay just like you are and close your eyes."

Blaine obeyed immediately. He whined when he felt Mr. Evans move away, but then he soon felt him next to him, by his head. It sounded like...it sounded like he was jerking himself. Blaine wanted to be the one to make him come! But he had the feeling that his daddy wouldn't like him to complain, so he didn't.

"You want me to come on your face, sweetheart? Will that show you who you belong to?"

"Yes!"

"Ask me nicely, sweetheart."

"Please, daddy!" Blaine had no sooner gotten the words out than he heard his daddy groan and felt the first spurt of hot come land on his cheek. "Daddy, yes, make me yours, please!" The spurts kept coming, and he opened his mouth wide to catch as much as he could. He kept the creamy globs on his tongue until his daddy finished painting his face and leaned down to kiss his forehead. Then he swallowed them and opened his eyes to see his daddy gazing down at him so sweetly... "Thank you, daddy," he whispered. "I wish I never had to wipe it off."

"But you do." Mr. Evans wiped a little bit off his cheek and then held his finger to Blaine's lips. Blaine sucked the come off greedily and Mr. Evans continued, "You have to get cleaned up before your roommate is back."

"Shit," Blaine said, and then he immediately apologized for his bad language. He got dressed as quickly as he could.

He heard Nick try the door again and announce, "I'm coming in, Blaine!" Blaine yanked open a drawer, grabbed a t-shirt, wiped his face off, and dropped the shirt back in the drawer. He was closing it when Nick walked in, followed by Sebastian.

They both gaped at Mr. Evans for several seconds before Sebastian started to laugh and said, "Well, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend, Blaine?"

"Uh..."

Mr. Evans stepped forward and shook Sebastian's hand, then Nick's. "Sam Evans. Blaine sits for me sometimes."

"You're Mr. _Evans_?" Sebastian asked incredulously. "And Blaine is your _babysitter_?"

"That's right. And you are?"

"Nick Duval. Blaine's roommate."

"Sebastian Smythe. Blaine's...friend." Sebastian was smirking and he was totally oblivious to the way Mr. Evans's face changed when he heard that this was Sebastian.

"Blaine's friend. Really."

"Actually he's Nick's friend," Blaine said.

"Blaine, I can't believe Mr. Evans is real," Sebastian said. "Mr. Evans, how's your wife's cold?"

Mr. Evans looked at Blaine, confused, as Blaine felt his face grow hot. "My wife doesn't have a cold."

"Oh, I'm so glad. Those things can turn into consumption before you know it."

"What?"

"All right, very funny, Sebastian. Did you need something or did you just drop by to be a dick?" Blaine turned to Mr. Evans and added, "Sorry."

"You know, it is my room too," Nick said.

"But not his!" Shit, Blaine felt like he was about to cry. He could not cry in front of Sebastian.

Mr. Evans stood behind him and put his hand on his shoulder. "I think you should leave, Sebastian," he said.

"Do you?" Sebastian took a couple steps toward Blaine. He looked at him closely and laughed. "You know your shirt's not buttoned straight. And—oh my God! There's something on your face!"

He reached to touch the "something" and without any warning Mr. Evans grabbed him by the shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. "Do you always touch people who don't want you to touch them?" he demanded.

Sebastian looked terrified. Blaine had never seen him that way—it was kind of awesome. Nick stood there stupidly looking almost as terrified, which Blaine wasn't as happy about, but he found he wasn't really unhappy about it either.

Mr. Evans twisted Sebastian's shirt in his fist and said, "I asked you a question. Do you always touch people who don't want to be touched?"

"No sir," Sebastian said.

Mr. Evans leaned closer and said, calmly and quietly, right into his ear. "I don't want you to bother Blaine anymore. I don't want you to talk to him, I don't want you to look at him. I don't even want you to think about him. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, since Blaine has asked you to leave, what do you think you should do now?"

"Blaine didn't actually ask me to leave."

Mr. Evans pulled him forward and slammed him back against the wall. Nick gasped in sympathy. Blaine realized he was hard and more turned on than ever.

"But I think I'll leave anyway."

"Thank you." Mr. Evans let go of his shirt and smoothed it where it was wrinkled from his fist. "That's very considerate of you." Mr. Evans took a step back, and Sebastian quickly ducked out of the room, soon followed by Nick.

Mr. Evans relocked the door and took Blaine in his arms. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really hope that won't get you in more trouble."

"Nick won't tell anyone, and neither will Sebastian." Even Sebastian probably didn't really want to get Blaine expelled, and besides, it wasn't a story he would come across very well in.

"I hope you're right." He kissed Blaine and said, "I wish I didn't have to leave."

"You don't! You can't leave now, daddy!"

"I can't stick around after that."

"But...but that was so hot, how you took care of Sebastian for me, and I've never needed you to fuck me more than I do right now, please, daddy!"

Mr. Evans pulled him in closer so Blaine could feel how hard he was too. "Jesus, Blaine," he said. "You know I can't say no when you ask me like that."

"Thank you, daddy!" Blaine stripped off his clothes and went straight for the bed, putting his ass up in the air to be fucked. Mr. Evans groaned as he took off his own clothes and joined him.

He didn't speak, he just worked him open quickly with his fingers and some lube. And then he was pushing in, rougher and more abruptly than he had before. It almost hurt, and Blaine was amazed to discover that the almost-pain was in fact the same as intense pleasure. "God, daddy, please," he said. And then Mr. Evans was nailing him, over and over, not pausing for even a second, hitting that spot in him every fucking time. Blaine didn't even have to touch his cock, and Mr. Evans didn't have to touch it for him, and he was coming undone, screaming into his pillow, clenching around his daddy's cock, jizzing onto his bedspread. "Please, daddy," he said when he was finally able to stop screaming for a second, "please come in me."

And he did. Blaine felt his cock grow and explode inside him, he felt his insides get painted with the same hot, gooey liquid his face had been painted with earlier. He collapsed, and Mr. Evans collapsed right on top of him, not even pulling out.

Blaine would have stayed like that all night...and all the next day and forever if he could have. But Mr. Evans stood up after a few minutes, and Blaine realized sadly that he probably had to get home to his family.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched Mr. Evans get dressed. "So I still belong to you, right?"

"Of course you do, sweetheart." Mr. Evans finished dressing and kissed the top of his head. "I really do have to go now."

"But I'll see you again?"

"You'll see me again, baby. I promise." He kissed Blaine once more and then left. Blaine hoped he was telling the truth, because he didn't know what he'd do without his daddy.


	7. End

**A/N: This is the last chapter, and there's no smut, so feel free to skip.**

"Dad! Dad! It snowed last night! Did you see?"

Sam cringed at his coffee. "Yeah, I saw, pumpkin. I've got some—"

"Can we go right after breakfast?" Matilda asked as she got a bowl and spoon out of the dishwasher for her cereal.

"Listen, pumpkin, it looks like sledding is gonna have to wait till tomorrow." He didn't have the heart to add that the forecast was calling for warm enough temperatures later on that the snow might be melted by tomorrow.

"But you _promised_ that if there was enough snow on the weekend..." The little girl looked at Quinn. "Mom, he promised!"

Quinn pushed her chair back from the table and patted her lap for Matilda to sit on, but the girl shook her head. Quinn said, "I know, sweetheart, and your dad would never make a promise he didn't intend to keep. But he has to work today, he didn't know it when he promised you about sledding, and work is important. It's how we pay for our house and—"

"And our cars and our clothes and our food," Matilda finished for her. "But how come dad has to work _all the time_?"

"It's not all the time," Quinn said.

But Matilda was right that Sam had been "working late" a lot lately. Lying to Quinn, missing out on stuff with his family—it was killing him. But not seeing Blaine killed him more.

This morning, though, was actually work. He had to go out to the Smythes' house to look into some concerns they were having with the work he did on their kitchen in December. He had really hoped he was done with those people; they had been such pains in his ass—constantly changing their minds about what they wanted done, blaming him when their crazy ideas were completely unworkable. He was so dreading having to listen politely to their "concerns," and it pissed him off no end that he had to disappoint his kids to do it.

It turned out that the Smythes only had one concern, and despite what Mr. Smythe had insinuated, it had nothing at all to do with the quality of Sam's work or the work of any of his guys. The problem was that there wasn't enough storage space. Sam, of course, had explained to them exactly how much storage space there would be, given the dimensions of the room and all the features they wanted to have put in. And every time they changed what they wanted, he had explained how that would affect the amount of storage space. But silly him, he had neglected to specifically explain that going out and buying all-new Le Creuset cookware—and not being willing to get rid of their old cookware because they were sentimentally attached to it or something—might have an impact.

Instead of suggesting that Mr. Smythe shove his four-hundred-dollar French ovens up his ass, Sam mentioned some ideas for projects he could write up estimates for. He emphasized the "writing up estimates" part so Mr. Smythe wouldn't try to claim that the extra work should somehow be included with what had already been paid for.

Looking through his calendar, Sam was saying, "It looks like we're booked up solid through..." The phone dropped from his hand and all he could think as a teenage boy in pajamas strolled into the kitchen was, _NO_.

Mr. Smythe turned to see what he was looking at. "Oh, about time you woke up. This is the kitchen guy I told you was coming over. Sam Evans, this is my son, Sebastian. He's home from school for the weekend."

"Nice to meet you," Sam forced himself to say. Was he sweating? He felt like he was sweating. And dizzy. Definitely dizzy.

"Oh, but we've met, Mr. Evans." Shit, the smirk on that kid's face. "Don't you remember?"

"Uh...oh, sure. You're Blaine's friend, right?"

"I'd kind of like to be more than Blaine's friend, if you know what I mean. But just between you and me, I think he's seeing someone else."

"That's too bad," Sam said.

"All right, Sebastian, Mr. Evans didn't come here to hear about your relationship problems."

"I don't think it's going to be a problem for much longer," Sebastian said. And he winked at Sam, the little bastard winked right at him. "By the way, do you have a business card, Mr. Evans? My friend Nick's parents are thinking of having some work done to their place, I'd love to refer them to you."

"No. I don't," Sam said. His business card had his home phone number on it, which was what he assumed Sebastian wanted it for.

"Oh, well, I still have the one you gave me," Mr. Smythe said, pulling out his wallet. He shuffled through the many cards inside saying, "I don't know why I always keep these things after I've got the numbers in my phone." He found the one he was looking for and handed it to his son.

"Thanks, dad."

"Yes. Thank you," Sam added. Since supposedly the act was to help out Sam's business.

Sebastian went to the fridge, took out a bottle of water, and left, smiling to himself the whole time.

Sam got out of the house as soon as he could without letting on to Sebastian's dad that something was really, really wrong. That is, he didn't think he let on. He kind of had other stuff on his mind.

As soon as he got out to his car he called Blaine. And got his voice mail and hung up because he had no idea what to tell him and if the shit was going to hit the fan, leaving incriminating voice mails didn't seem like a good idea. He called three more times on his drive home; the last time he finally left a brief, non-incriminating message. As casually as he could he said, "Hi, Blaine. This is Mr. Evans. Could you call me back when you get a chance please?" He decided not to say that it was important or tell Blaine to call as soon as possible, because he couldn't imagine him not calling back as soon as he possibly could no matter what.

Quinn was waiting for him at the kitchen table, her eyes already red and puffy. Sam wasn't surprised, although he had been hoping the little prick wouldn't call _right_ away.

He sat down across from her, not sure what to say, looking down at a jelly stain one of the girls had left on the table.

"Is it true?" she asked finally.

"Um. What did he tell you exactly?"

"Oh, no!" Quinn snapped. "You're not going to get away with admitting to just what that kid already knows about. You're going to tell me everything."

"No, I just...thought he might have made up some stuff," Sam said lamely. "That kid doesn't like me."

"Tell me everything," Quinn repeated.

"I..." He had known the whole time he was with Blaine, in the back of his head at least, that it might come to this. And yet he was totally unprepared. He didn't even know if he was going to try to lie or just...just confess and beg for forgiveness or...There had to be other options, but he didn't know what they were. He didn't think changing the subject and hoping Quinn would forget about the whole thing would work.

Okay. He would lie. Sebastian couldn't prove anything, and Blaine would never tell. Quinn would believe him, she'd have to. He'd never given her a reason not to trust him. Before this, that is, but technically she didn't know about it yet, so...

He looked right in her eyes, with that air of confidence she had taught him to project, and said, "I don't know what that kid thinks happened, but..."

She waited. She waited, it felt like forever, for him to finish. And when he didn't, she prompted, "But?"

And he couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her anymore. He cradled his head in his hands and closed his eyes and admitted, "I slept with Blaine."

Quinn was silent. Sam couldn't look at her, and he was pretty sure she wasn't looking at him either. He saw nothing but blackness, and he heard nothing but the muffled sounds of Johnny Test coming from the next room.

"Quinn, I'm so—"

"I didn't really believe it, you know. That boy who called me was so insistent that it was true, but I thought he was a liar."

"I'm so sorry, Quinn."

She scoffed. "You'll understand if I don't believe that now either."

"I'm really—"

"Save it," she snapped. "I want specifics. Spare me your euphemisms like you _slept with_ him."

"Do you really want to do this, honey? Does it really make it easier if I say I had sex with him?"

"Easier's not the point, and _had sex_ still isn't specific."

Sam sighed. Quinn wanted to do this like a lawyer, apparently. "Intercourse. I penetrated him anally and we copulated until ejaculation. Is that specific enough?"

She fixed him with a steely gaze. "Did you use a condom?"

"No."

"So you've potentially exposed me to sexually transmitted diseases?"

"He was a virgin, Quinn!"

Quinn was quiet for a few moments, but she didn't avert her gaze. Sam did. Sam covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he finally looked at his wife again she asked softly, "Is that supposed to make this better somehow? Is it better that you corrupted an _innocent_ child?"

Of course it didn't. Blaine's innocence was such a huge turn-on for Sam, but he knew it made his own actions all the worse. "It means I didn't expose you to any diseases," he said. That, at least, was sort of a mitigating factor. Right?

"When?" Quinn asked.

"You mean the first..." Quinn's eyes got huge, and...oh, shit.

"Oh my God!" Quinn said, choking on her own words. "Oh my God, I can't believe..." She stood suddenly, knocking over the chair she'd been sitting in. "I'm so stupid."

"Honey, no..."

"Don't you_ dare_ call me honey!" she yelled at him. "Here I was thinking this was a horrible, inexcusable, incomprehensible thing that happened _once_. But you've actually been carrying on a full-blown affair. _With a sixteen-year-old boy_."

Sam didn't correct her on Blaine's age. If Blaine were eighteen he would have, but as it was it seemed pointless.

Quinn covered her mouth with her hand. "He's not even the first, is he? How many others have there been?"

"No! He is the first. The _only_, I mean. The only. I promise."

Quinn laughed, as if she found his statement the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. "I'm sure you'll understand if your promise doesn't mean that much to me right now."

Sam's phone rang. He didn't have a special ringtone for Blaine—Blaine had never called him before—but he was almost certain that's who it was, returning his call. He wasn't going to answer, but Quinn asked, "Is that him?"

He took it out and looked. "Yeah."

Quinn took it from him. "Hello?" she answered, managing to sound eerily normal. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Evans isn't available at the moment. Can I take a message?...No, you're sure?...All right, then. Good-bye." She hung up, took a deep breath, and whipped the phone at the wall behind Sam. He heard it whiz right past his ear a split-second before it crashed and shattered.

Willa toddled into the kitchen still in her fuzzy lilac pajamas and looked wide-eyed at the cell phone pieces on the floor. "Uh-oh!" she said.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh!"

Sam picked Willa up into his lap and sniffed. "Someone smells poopy," he observed.

"Uh-oh!" Willa said again.

"That word just has so many uses," Sam said. He stood up, holding her. "Let's get you cleaned up, pumpkin."

He looked at Quinn in case she wanted to say anything before he left the room. Quinn wasn't looking at him, though, she was making a call on her intact phone. Sam could hear her as he walked through the dining room. "Can you come over and take the girls? It's sort of an emergency...It's...Can you just trust me that I need you to come and I'll tell you why later?..._No_, I absolutely can _not_ call the babysitter!..."

Sam returned to the kitchen a few minutes with Willa, who was in a fresh diaper and a brown and pink onesie-jumper combo that he knew was one of Quinn's favorite outfits for her. Not that he thought she was mad at the baby, obviously, but he didn't know what else to do...

Quinn was typing on her laptop and didn't look up when he walked in. She said, "Rachel is on her way over, and I don't want to talk to you or look at you until she gets here."

"Let's go see what Tillie's up to," Sam said as he retreated to the living room with Willa.

Matilda was restarting the episode of Johnny Test she'd just finished watching. "Dad! You're home!"

"I am."

"We can go sledding now!"

"I wish we could, honey." He really, really wished he could just take the girls sledding and pretend everything was fine. "Something came up and Aunt Rachel's on her way over."

"She can come too!"

"Not today, pumpkin. Sorry." Tomorrow, maybe. If your mother doesn't kill me.

Matilda crossed her arms over her chest. "You promised, dad! And you always tell me that dads always keep their promises!"

"We try," Sam said. He held Willa tightly to his chest until she squirmed loose and looked at his face.

"Dada cwy," she said worriedly.

Matilda dropped her pissed-off pose and asked quietly, "Why are you crying, dad?"

Sam wiped his eyes off and tried to pull himself together. "Because I'm sorry. I'm sad that I broke my promise."

"It's okay, dad!" Matilda told him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You couldn't help it, it's okay! We'll go sledding tomorrow! Okay, dad?"

"Thanks, Tillie." Sam took a deep breath and assured her, "I'm okay."

Matilda took him by the hand and led him to the couch. "Let's watch violent cartoons until Aunt Rachel gets here," she suggested. Sam sat down with Willa on his lap and Matilda curled up next to him while he selected an episode of Ben 10, one of the many shows Rachel never let the girls watch when she was around, even when she wasn't officially in charge of them. Quinn didn't much care for Ben 10 either, and Sam tried not to think about how Matilda might _never_ get to watch it anymore if...

Quinn wouldn't try to keep the girls from him entirely, would she? No, she knew that wouldn't be in their best interest, which she would care about more than punishing him. Right? No matter how mad she was?

From the kitchen he heard his mangled cell phone make a choked and pathetic attempt at ringing. He wondered if it was Blaine again. Probably not—Blaine probably wouldn't try again so soon after getting Quinn the first time. It did make him worry about how Blaine was doing right now though. Was he freaking out about Sam's message and about Quinn answering his phone? God, he hoped not. Because there really was nothing he could do to comfort him right now.

There was another garbled ring, followed by an ear-piercing metallic screech. Sam hurriedly set Willa on the floor and ran to the kitchen to find Quinn standing in front of the sink, watching something in the garbage disposal. He pulled her out of the way just before a large hunk of something flew out. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he lunged forward and turned the disposal off. "What happened!?" he asked.

"Your phone was annoying me," Quinn answered. "I thought I told you I didn't want to look at you." Sam didn't answer, and he didn't leave because...what if she decided to put his laptop in the microwave or something? After a several-minute, silent standoff, Quinn left the kitchen wordlessly. As soon as she was out of sight Sam ran to the circuit breaker in the basement and cut the power to the kitchen. He came back upstairs and dug what was left of his phone out of the disposal, but he didn't turn the kitchen power back on, just in case.

XOXOXO

Blaine checked his phone in the locker room after fencing practice. A message from Mr. Evans! Oh! He hoped Mr. Evans wasn't in Westerville wanting to see him! That is, he hoped Mr. Evans wanted to see him and would be in Westerville soon, Blaine just hoped he hadn't accidentally kept him waiting by not answering his phone right away. Or worse, what if he had decided not to wait but to drive home instead?

He stepped out into the hallway and called back right away, obviously. Actually he felt a little weird about it: he had never called Mr. Evans before. It seemed too forward or something, and he wasn't sure if he had permission to do so. But this time his daddy had told him to call, so at least that part wasn't in question.

But then when Mr. Evans answered...well, Mr. Evans _didn't_ answer. _Mrs. _Evans did. And there was something very weird in the way she said "Hello?" Or maybe not, maybe he was just imagining it because he was surprised to hear her and because...well, the guilt about what he was doing with her husband.

"Um, could I speak to Mr. Evans, please?"

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Evans isn't available at the moment. Can I take a message?"

Take a message? Why would she even pick up his phone if he wasn't available, why wouldn't she just let it go to voice mail? And what kind of message could he possibly leave with the wife of the man he was in love with? "Uh, no, thank you."

"No, you're sure?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am."

"All right, then. Good-bye." She hung up before he could return the good-bye.

He went back to the locker room and got in the shower, feeling very unsettled. He couldn't call back again now, obviously, but what if Mr. Evans didn't know he had tried? Hopefully he would notice Blaine's number in his history, but then he might be mad that he hadn't left a voice mail. And just the fact that Mrs. Evans had answered at all nagged at him a little bit. His own parents never answered each others' phones, and he couldn't think of any other couples that answered each others' either. Not that he knew that many adult couples, so...it probably wasn't actually weird.

He tried not to, like, obsess about it, about whether Mr. Evans was getting unhappy with him for not calling back yet, about what _Mrs. _Evans might think if he tried again too soon. It was hard not to obsess, though, and his thoughts kept returning to the idea that he'd feel so much calmer if Mr. Evans could pull him into his lap and hold him.

As soon as he was showered and dressed he went straight to the library. He was in no mood to work on his history project, but in case Mr. Evans did want to see him still (and, God, he hoped Mr. Evans did want to see him still!) he should really get as much work done now as he could.

His heart jumped a little when his text alert went off, but it wasn't from Mr. Evans. It was from...Jesus Christ, it was Sebastian. Sebastian had been pretty much leaving him alone ever since Mr. Evans slammed him against the wall (one of Blaine's favorite masturbatory images), so why did he have to bother him now? He almost didn't even read the text, but in the end he was too curious not to. It said, "Sorry things didn't work out between you and your statutory rapist of a boyfriend. Feel free to use me for rebound sex."

What the...!? Oh, God...what...!? He had to talk to Mr. Evans right away, he couldn't wait. He dialed, got nothing, and hung up. Dialed again. Got nothing again. Hung up again. Reread Sebastian's text. That asshole was obviously just fucking with him. He didn't know anything. How could he? But he needed to speak to Mr. Evans, to let himself be reassured. He called again, and this time left a voice mail when he got no answer. Knowing there was a greater than zero percent chance that Mrs. Evans would hear the message, he tried to be careful in what he said and how he said it. "Hi, Mr. Evans, it's...I..." He decided it might be better not to mention that Mr. Evans had called him first. "I kind of need to...I mean there's something I'd like to, uh, ask you about a...um, babysitting issue. Please call me, Mr. Evans, please. As soon as you can."

XOXOXO

When Rachel got to the house to watch the girls, Quinn told Sam to get in her car. He tried to ask where they were going but all she would say was "Somewhere to talk." Once she started driving, Sam began to suspect she didn't know where they were going either. She drove without saying anything until eventually parking on the street near a small playground. She turned off the ignition and removed her seat belt but didn't open the door. "I should have listened to Rachel," she said. She didn't sound angry at the moment, she sounded sad.

"When she told you not to marry me?"

"When she told me not to _date_ you because you were gay. She saw it right away. I don't know how I missed it all these years."

"Quinn, wait a second. Are you saying you think I don't really love you, that you think I never loved you and all this time I was just using you as a...a..."

"A beard, I think the term is. And yes, I'm saying that conclusion seems inescapable."

"No!" Sam twisted in his seat so he could look in her eyes...could, that is, if she were willing to meet his, which she wasn't. "No! I did love you and I _do_ love you and I'm not gay."

"Oh, please, Sam!" Quinn turned to look out her window, but not before Sam could see her tears. "Isn't it time for you to be honest with me finally?"

"I've always been honest with you, honey. Except this one time. It seems like you think the only thing different about this one time is that you found out, but—"

"You're right, that's exactly what I think. I'd be a fool to think anything else."

"No. This is the only time there was anything _for_ you to find out about."

Quinn kept looking out her window, not saying anything. Sam wished she would look at him, at least. He couldn't...he kind of got how she would be less inclined to trust him now, but he really couldn't believe she might think he'd been lying to her about everything all this time.

Eventually she spoke again. "Even if you're telling the truth about this being the first time..."

"Only time," Sam insisted.

"And I'm not saying I believe that it is, but even if it is the first time, it still means you've been living a lie this whole time."

"I haven't. Quinn, I'm not gay. I'm attracted to women. To _you_. I love _you._"

She turned to look at him, finally. She studied his face. "You have always _seemed_ to be attracted to women," she admitted. "I've seen where your eyes wander when we're at the beach. Even Rachel only thought you were gay before we actually started dating. And then she started telling me about how you were always flirting with my sorority sisters."

"They flirted with me," Sam said automatically. They'd had this playful argument many times before.

"I know that," Quinn said, allowing a hint of a smile to flash across her face for a split-second. She let out a sigh. "So you're really not gay?"

"I'm really not gay."

Quinn lunged forward and punched his shoulder hard. "It's so much worse if you're really not gay!"

"Quinn..." Sam tried, holding his aching shoulder.

"If you were gay at least I could see how the stress of living a lie could finally get to you. But, no, you're saying that's not the case, you still love me, you still find me attractive...that is what you're saying, right?"

"Yes."

"So then how the hell did this happen? I want you to be honest with me, because I really want to understand."

"I don't know," Sam said. It wasn't as if he'd never asked himself the exact same question. And he just kept coming back to Blaine, and how beautiful his eyes were when he called him daddy, and he knew he couldn't even try to explain that to Quinn. He ran his hand through his hair and said, "I don't know. I never wanted to fall in—"

Quinn cut him off: "Don't you dare tell me you're in love with that boy."

"Um, okay." He was pretty sure she had just told him to be honest, but, okay, he could see how she might think of honesty as a relative concept in this situation.

"You are not in love with a sixteen-year-old boy."

"Seventeen."

"Fine, seventeen. You realize it's just as illegal either way, don't you?"

"Actually Blaine looked it up. The age of consent in Ohio is sixteen."

Quinn stared at him for a minute before she started laughing. "Really?"

"Not that it matters, like you said, whether he's sixteen or seventeen, but..."

"So you're not just getting your sexual needs met by underage boys now, but your legal ones too? Sure, you might have a _wife_ who's a _lawyer_...Though I can see why you might not have wanted to come to me for legal advice on that particular question. But did your counsel happen to mention to you the provisions under section 2907 of the Ohio Revised Code for sexual activity between a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old and an adult who's in a position of authority over him or her? Position of authority such as, oh, I don't know, the child's employer?"

Shit. "Is that what you were doing in the kitchen? Reading the criminal code?" Quinn wasn't a criminal lawyer, she did wills and estate stuff, so the criminal code section number wasn't the kind of thing she'd know off the top of her head. "Am I going to need a lawyer?"

Quinn let out a deep breath. "Probably not a criminal lawyer," she said, "unless Blaine or his parents decide to go that route. I don't have any particular desire to see my children's father in prison."

"Thank you," Sam said softly. Then, "What about a...a divorce lawyer?"

Quinn was playing with a strand of hair that had escaped from its ponytail. She twisted furiously while staring at a spot on the dashboard. "Do you _swear_ that Blaine is the only one? That it never happened before and will never happen again?" she asked, not moving her eyes from the dashboard until she finished the question. "Tell me the truth now, because if I find out later that you didn't, then everything I'm about to say is off."

Sam kept her gaze and said, "I swear. I swear, Quinn."

"Then...then you don't need a divorce lawyer _yet_. I'm willing to try to work through this. Maybe we won't be able to, but I don't want to tear apart the girls' family unless I know we tried everything."

"Thank you," Sam said, releasing a small gasp and a few tears he'd been holding in. Throughout their conversation his biggest fear had been trying to explain to the girls somehow why he wouldn't be living with them anymore, and how would they take it, not seeing them all the time, and how would he take not seeing them? And he was enormously relieved to have that worst-case scenario off the table, for now at least. For now and for as long as he had any control over what happened. "I'll do whatever you want."

Quinn handed him her phone. "I want to hear you break it off with him."

Sam looked at the phone but didn't take it. "You want me to...what?"

"Don't tell me you thought we could work through this while you keep seeing him!"

"No, I...No, of course not. I just...I haven't thought of how to tell him yet, and...and why do you want to _hear_ it?"

"Why do I want to hear it? Are you serious? So I'll know you're really doing it, obviously. So I'll know you're making a clean break and not implying that it's temporary or that you might change your mind later."

Sam held out his hand and accepted the phone, preparing to break the heart of the boy he loved. He scrolled through Quinn's contacts for the number.

Just before he called Quinn said, "Wait. I need your word that this will be the last contact you have with him. Ever."

Sam nodded mutely.

"All right, go ahead. Put it on speaker."

Blaine's phone rang, and he experienced half a second of intense relief before he noticed that the caller ID didn't say Mr. Evans, it said Mrs. Evans. He briefly considered not answering, but not knowing what was going on was killing him. "Hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Blaine, it's Mr. Evans."

"Oh my God, daddy, I'm so glad you called! I tried to call you earlier but your wife answered and I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you and I've been so worried—"

"Blaine, you have to stop talking, sweetheart." Sam covered his eyes, not wanting to see how Quinn was reacting to hearing him call Blaine sweetheart. Just like he hadn't been able to look when Blaine called him daddy, though with any luck Quinn hadn't noticed that, given how fast Blaine was talking. "Just...let me talk, Blaine. You're not going to like this, let me just get it over quickly."

"No! Daddy, please, no! I don't know what Sebastian has done—"

"Blaine! I told you to stop talking, now, didn't I?"

"Yes, but...but if you're about to tell me that you don't wanna be my daddy anymore, then I don't have to do what you say."

"Blaine Devon Anderson! Stop talking this instant." He stole a glance at Quinn. She looked ill; she was holding her hand over her mouth as if she were afraid she might actually throw up. Deciding that his sternest tone was the only thing that stood a chance of working, he said, "You are not to call me that again, and you are not to speak at all unless I say you can. If you understand, say 'I understand.'"

"I understand," Blaine said meekly.

"Good." Sam bit off the word _boy_ at the end of the phrase. "Good. I can tell you've guessed why I'm calling, but I want to be very clear. We...we can't see each other anymore, Blaine. Not ever."

"Why?" Blaine asked in the smallest, saddest voice Sam had ever heard.

"I didn't say you could talk, Blaine," Sam reminded him. "But I think you know the reason. Because it's wrong. Because you're in high school and I'm an adult with a wife and two children. I love my wife and I can't keep doing this to her."

Blaine curled up in a ball on his bed. "And you don't love me?"

"I love my wife. My wife and my family."

Blaine was holding back his sobs, but just barely. He whispered, "That's not what I asked."

Sam did, he did love Blaine. So much. But no good could come of telling him that _now_. "No. I'm sorry, Blaine, but I...I don't love you."

Blaine let the phone fall next to him on the mattress as he sobbed freely.

"Blaine? Blaine, are you all right?"

Blaine was only vaguely aware that Mr. Evans was still talking. He didn't love him and didn't want to see him again, ever. What else could there possibly be to say?

"You're a...you're a good kid, Blaine, and this isn't your fault, it's my fault. I'm the one to blame here, not you, and I just want you to know that you'll find someone your own age who you can be happy with." Sam listened and still heard nothing but sobs. "You can talk now, Blaine, if you want." But he didn't talk, and he sounded like he was hyperventilating. "Blaine, just take a deep breath..." Quinn caught his eye and gave him a wrap-it-up signal. "Okay, well, I'm going to hang up now. Good-bye and...and I wish you well." He hung up and slammed his head back against the head rest.

"That was hard for you," Quinn said.

"Yeah. Well, you heard him."

"I heard way more than I wanted to about the nature of your relationship."

Sam cringed. "Well, you see the thing is—"

"Don't," Quinn said, holding her hand up to stop him. "I don't want to know."

"Yeah, that's probably best."

"Anyway, my point is that I know it was hard for you, but I'm sure you'll understand why I'm not inclined to be sympathetic right now."

Sam nodded. "I get it. Can we just go home?"

"You can go home. I can't be around you anymore right now."

"Where are you gonna go after you drop me off?"

"You didn't hear what I said. I can't be around you right now. You need to get out of my car now. If you want to go home you need to walk." She unlocked the car doors and looked at his meaningfully.

"Oh!" The idea of the five-or-so-mile walk didn't bother him much—it wasn't even all that cold—but he did worry about something. "But you're still willing to try to work through this, right?"

"Yes, Sam," she said with more than a hint of exasperation. "But you didn't think it would be instant, did you? Or that it would be easy for me?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. Then get out of my car and I'll see you at home some time tonight."

Sam got out of the car and said, "I love you." Quinn leaned across the seat, closed his door, and drove off.

_Fin._


End file.
